


You're A Good Listener

by the_three_trenchcoat_wearers



Series: You're A Good Listener [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, Death, Gore, I can't say who but there's a biggie, I really don't wanna spoil anything though, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killer Dean, Torture, Violence, Vomit, acts of rape, honestly, it's a little gross, please be careful when reading this, this is a messed up piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_three_trenchcoat_wearers/pseuds/the_three_trenchcoat_wearers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Winchester are America's most notorious serial killers, and they are finally brought to justice and put on trial. Poor 18 year old Castiel gets drawn for the jury. But when the victims start appearing to look like him, and the killers lock their eyes on him- Castiel pleads for his life more than once when they are reported missing...</p><p> </p><p>This piece depicts acts of rape, brutal violence, scenes of intense gore, mutilation of bodies, and highly detailed killings. Be warned of vomit, blood, rape, torture, a quick depiction of an animal death, and the highly grotesque scenes of murders. </p><p>I really like this story because of the blood and guts, but I sure hope that you didn't eat anything before deciding to read this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're A Good Listener

**Author's Note:**

> I am not even CLOSE to kidding about being mentally prepared. Please be warned of violence, graphic deaths, torture, and more. 
> 
> Iv'e been working on this piece for several months, perfecting and making sure I like it. I am very proud of this piece. I apologize if there are any grammatical, punctuational, spelling, or continuity mistakes. Sometimes things slip my eye as I am re-reading. If you notice anything out of place or not correct, please let me know and I will fix it.
> 
> I don't know all that much about the judicial system, I just did some basic research for their case. What I did was base most of their in court time on the James Holmes trial that I was watching while typing this. Other than the very quick trial and how fast it came up (which I know is wrong), let me know if there is anything obvious to fix.

There it was- flashing brightly across the screen in large black letters. **WINCHESTERS APPREHENDED**. After nearly six years, over 250 bodies counted, 90 different cars stolen, 14 bank robberies, and over two dozen sightings have finally brought the two most ruthless murderers that the United States has ever seen into custody. Granted- they were caught getting gas at a local Gas-N-Sip just outside of Pontiac, Illinois- the prison that they were holed up in wasn’t exactly suited for hard-assed criminals. This is what was known of them.

**Dean Winchester:**

**6’2**

**175 lbs**

**D.O.B. January 24, 1979**

**Lawrence, Kansas**

**Brown hair**

**Green eyes**

**multiple offender of first degree murder, car theft, thought to be sacrificing victims**

 

**Samuel Winchester**

**6’4**

**185 lbs**

**D.O.B. May 2, 1983**

**Lawrence, Kansas**

**Brown hair**

**Hazel eyes**

**multiple offender of first degree murder, car theft, illegal government network hacking**

 

Yeah… these weren’t the guys that you wanted to mess with.There are several rumors floating about the world about them, but there are only a few consistencies about them. Their mother was dead, their father was dead, and that they routinely returned to Lawrence to place flowers on their mother’s grave. Of course, nobody ever saw them, but who else would leave flowers on the grave of the mother to the two most notorious serial killers in the nation? Anyways- the station that they were in had called in over 50 reinforcement guards from neighboring towns and cities and had the men locked up in separate cells on either end of the station. There was 24 hour surveillance on them. They had been known to escape from holding cells and prisons before.

 

But that’s not what scared Castiel Novak the most about this situation. It was in less than one month later that the court date was set for the two… and he had gotten a jury summons in the mail. It didn’t help that he had registered to vote just six days before they were caught. He had just turned 18 three weeks before that, and graduated only two days before then. And now he was going to serve on the jury for these two homicidal maniacs. He slammed down the rest of the mail that he held in his hands and took to running his fingers through his already messy hair. He snatched his phone from off of the counter next to him and dialed in his brother’s phone number. It rang three times.

“Y’ello?” Castiel sighed quietly at his brother Gabe’s bitter sweet voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey Gabe. I have a question for you… about life…” He could hear Gabe on the other side of the phone inhale sharply.

“I knew this day was coming- ok, so when a man loves a woman, or man, or animal-”

“Gabe, I have a real question for you.”

“Oh, ok then. What’s up?”

“Can you get out of jury duty?” Gabe laughed.

“Just turned 18, just registered to vote, and already summoned for jury duty? Poor thing! What’s it for? Some poor bloke got a traffic violation?”

“It’s for the Winchester case.” Silence surrounded Castiel and filled up every empty space in his small apartment.

“You’re kidding right?” Gabe sighed, and Castiel could picture him running his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair (that action ran in the family).

“I really wish I was. Is there any way to get out of this?” he practically pleaded to his brother. Gabe had, after all, slept with the judge a few times- Michael.

“I am so sorry. There isn’t a way to get out of it unless your number isn’t called. So you have to call the court of where it’s being held and ask them about the jury and then they will tell you that numbers ‘ex-through-ex’ will be called to the jury. Unless they don’t call your number you are stuck on the case.”

“Thanks Gabe.”

“Sure thing. When is the date set for the trial?”

“The letter said on the 25th.”

“Well then, better get going on researching the case.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome Cassie.” The line clicked shut and Castiel tossed his phone onto the sectional behind him before running his fingers through his hair once again. He turned away from the island that separated his kitchen from his living room and went to pick up his chromebook laptop from the coffee table that sat in front of his couch. He sat down on his couch, folding one sweat-pants clad leg under him and balanced the laptop on the other leg. He opened the screen and just before it lit up, he saw his reflection in the black screen. His wildly messy, nearly black, hair stood in all directions. He could see the electric blue of his eyes even from such a dark reflecting surface, and he could also tell that he was annoyed by the fact that he held his tongue between his teeth. But then the screen saver popped up and he entered his password quickly- Ang3lGr4ce. All of his documents opened as the screen switched on fully. But he bypassed all of the college websites to pull up Google.

**Winchester**

That’s all he had to type in before several recommended links showed up-

**Winchester innocent or guilty**

**Winchester trial date**

**Winchester murders**

**Winchester brothers**

**Winchesters use Winchester guns**

The list itself nearly drove Castiel to have a panic attack- but he refused to let himself to stoop down that far. He took a deep breath and clicked on Winchester murders. Over 80 pages of related documents showed up. He started on the first link of the first page. He was met with insanely brutal pictures of several bodies that had been killed by the brothers. Their heads were chopped off and staked into the ground, the bodies had been meticulously carved limb from limb and also staked down. The blood looked thick and black in the dim lighting of the crime scene. Another picture showed up- four women all lined up in a nice little row, hands clasped on the chests, stomachs open and empty to the point that you could see their spines on the other side. Their organs had been found in glass jars three miles away. And some of the newest ones were just disgusting- they had cut up several bodies and replaced parts with other people. One guy had an arm that was a different shade of skin with a tattoo that cut off halfway by a line of stitches all the way around. The original arm had its tendons removed and put into yet another person… it was like they were playing ‘OPERATION’ on their victims. It was so wrong. But Castiel spent the next month researching these two freaks. There were a few rough sketches of them but the press was told that if they released any official pictures of either of them that their station would receive severe consequences for their actions.

 

Finally the 25th rolled around. His number had been confirmed by the court. He was dressed in a well fitted three piece suit with a blue tie that Meg had said would bring out his eyes. She was such a girl about some things. But he put it on anyways. He looked at himself in his bedroom mirror- his tall frame, his slightly combed hair, the messy room behind him… he was such an 18 year old. And according to the list of jurors that will be present, he is the youngest of them all, the second youngest is 26… As he walked in, the court officials asked everyone to line up along the wall and they began asking everyone the same three questions.

Name

“Castiel Novak”

Age

“18 years old”

Residence

“Pontiac, Illinois.”

They then asked everyone to sit down by last name, the ‘a’s top left and ‘z’s bottom right. So Castiel was smack dab in the middle.

He looked around the courthouse. He had been in them before, when his parents got into fights and when Gabe was dating Michael and when Lucifer was sent to jail for seven weeks. But this was different. There were never this many guards- they were stationed at every window, and the end of every seating bench, and all around the back wall. There had also never been this many (or any at all) news reporters- almost every single station was here with their own individual cameras set up and microphones set around the room. A few of them were going to be recording the whole thing. Then there was the giant projector set up to shine against the back wall so that evidence could be seen by everybody. Castiel watched with nervous eyes as the clock slowly ticked past every dash on the face. One minute. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Forty. Finally an entire hour passed as the room was being prepped for the criminals to be convicted of their crimes. His hands had started to sweat about half an hour ago, and the hairs on the back of his neck had never settled into place. He fiddled with his pen and notepad that everyone else had to keep track of information that was presented. He tapped the pen over and over on his thigh, to the point that the woman behind him asked him to stop.

“Sorry, I guess I am just really nervous.” She flashed him a bright and warm smile. Her close cropped red hair stood out brightly against the black pin-stripe suit she was wearing.

“Oh don’t worry about it, everyone here is nervous. But you look awfully young to be serving on a jury. How old are you?”

“I just turned 18 not that long ago. I’m Castiel.”

“Charlie.” She extended one slender hand out to him. He took it gratefully. For such a small woman she had a powerful handshake.

“Do you know what time this is supposed to start?” She shook her head quickly.

“Not sure, but I think it’s soon. The two guards at the door are now sporting batons and the four behind the court desk are becoming antsy.”

“I never realized that,” He stated simply as he searched out the guards she had pointed out.

“It’s my job to look for inconsistencies. I technically hack for a living. How about you kiddo?”

“I’ve been looking into different colleges lately, but I am a receptionist at a tattoo parlor just a couple blocks south of here.” She smiled down to him.

“Oh cool! Do you have any ink of your own?”

“I have a halo over a rose on my shin. But that’s it. How about you?”

“I have Princess Leia in a slave bikini straddling a 20-sided dice.” Castiel cocked his head back in slight confusion. “I was drunk, it was Comic-Con. Don’t judge.” Castiel tore his eyes away from her to look around quickly.

“I don’t judge.” Just then the doors to the court room opened widely, making everybody in the room fall deathly silent- which really isn’t the best word for this situation, but oh well. The news reporters started to take pictures, their flashes blinding even though the courtroom was brightly lit. The judge walked in and everyone stood. Then came the bailiff. Then came two cops, one man in an orange jumpsuit whose wrists were shackled to his hips and feet- his head remained low. Then another two guards, then an even taller man in the same suit and walking position as the first, and then another two guards. The cops were walking in the- the murderers… the Winchesters. The name tasted sour on Castiel’s tongue. The world stopped spinning.

The first man to look up was the taller of the two. He had thick shaggy hair that hung down in front of his eyes and he shook his head to clear it out of the way. He exposed a pointed nose and large intelligent eyes and… a smile. Not sadistic or blood thirsty, but a genuine smile as he looked around the courtroom. His dimples were what Castiel hated most about the man. He gazed around the room in awe, taking in every sight that it offered- bypassing the jury that was still standing as a sign of respect for the judge. His chains echoed loudly in the great room. And as he looked round, it couldn’t help to Castiel to become curious about the room as well (he never did look around). The ceiling was high and vaulted, painted a translucent gold color. The white marble pillars of the room cast an unearthly glow to anyone surrounding them. The desk at the front of the hall was a deep brown color and had a black marble counter as the desktop. And finally, his eyes passed over the jury… and stopped… He stared at them, turning his head gently to the side, taking in every detail of every man and woman there. And Castiel jumped slightly when the tall one laughed. Short and ecstatic, he expressed some kind of disgusting joy quite loudly to the room. Nobody had yet to talk. And as he finished his little laugh he turned his head to the shorter prisoner in front of him. And together, in one fluid movement, they looked back up to the jury. It was scary actually- how they moved as if connected. Castiel sucked in a breath as he looked at the shorter one.

The only time that he had ever hated being gay was now- because he hated the fact that he found the shorter man attractive… in a very disturbing way. Short, almost military style buzzed hair stood thickly on his head, pink, full lips smiled slowly, and emerald green eyes looked right into you. Their shared smile at the jury was causing everybody to squirm, and finally, Michael spoke out.

“Please be seated.” There was a raucous as chairs were pulled back and benches squeaked on the tiled floor. Michael remained standing at the front of the court and spoke out loudly over the heads of every person in the room. It was completely packed- but the heat was only starting to creep up on Castiel as a small bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. “I ask the charged to please approach the bench.” The two men who were still searching through the crowd of jurors smiled to each other and then walked towards the stand, heads held high- as if proud to be there. They were kept separated at least 10 feet from each one another at all times, even as they walked up. Michael asked the two to place their hands on bibles. “Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” Their reply irked Castiel even more than ever and he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. They had replied in unison.

“Which God?” Their voices were low and rumbling, and Castiel could see why they were so good at never being caught. Their charming good looks, their smooth voices, the way that they feigned innocence at the question.

“Whichever one you believe in.” Michael stated simply. “Now do-” The taller one spoke up- wasn’t that one Sam?

“But what if we don’t believe in God? What if we are agnostic, or atheist? The proper oath for people like us is ‘Do you solemnly affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury?’ Come on judge, even you should know that.” The court twittered quietly in the background at how this man so disgracefully made a mockery of the judge. But Michael, Castiel could see, was straining to provide an answer for him. But before he could speak, Sam spoke out again. “I mean no disrespect to your honor, but that is court conduct. Separation of church and state- this is stated in the first amendment. ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances’. Sir, I kindly ask you to restate the oath as to how our beliefs determine it.” The shorter of the two- it must be Dean- smiled carefully to himself as this was going on. Michael floundered, mouth gaping open like a fish on land. But eventually he composed himself enough to answer… as respectfully as he could. And by that- he spoke through clenched teeth,

“Yes of course I can restate that for you.”

“We thank you for that.” Sam nodded his head once, offered up a small smile, and remained quiet.

“Do you solemnly affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury?” Together the two men, with their hands on separate bibles, nodded.

“I affirm.” Again they spoke in unison. Castiel swept one hand through his hair, causing the slight neatness to come undone. He jotted down on his notebook.

Sam is too smart for his own good.

At that, Michael asked the two to sit. But he remained standing so that he could speak to everyone in the court room. “Now that we are all settled into our places and are comfortable with where we are sitting, I beg you to all listen very closely. In this room we have two convicted felons that are awaiting trial. Seeing as that Illinois is a state that withdrew it’s death penalty in 2011, we hereby await the sentence of these two men. We sit here in solidarity and in free opinion. We sit here in regards that we are not to share any given information with outside sources. We sit here knowing fully that we are in the presence of these two men until a decision is made on their lives.

“I wish to share with the news reporters that we have with us that if any and all information from you will be reviewed by several personnel and any information that they deem ‘harmful’ to this case will be taken into custody of the Illinois city hall records.

“Now to the jurors… any and all information presented within these walls may be used as resources for or against these two men. Take all options into consideration when processing the given information.” He opened his arms wide to the court. “Now let this begin.” He sat down behind the desk. Castiel, who had been looking directly at Michael this entire time, didn’t realize that he would be in the direct line of sight for Dean Winchester… so when he turned to look at those two sick men, he locked eyes with those emerald green ones. He tried to look away but was inexplicably drawn towards him and that demented smile that spread slowly across his face. He watched with sickening horror as Dean looked away from him, back to his brother, lifted his eyebrows twice, and then his left one once, and returned to staring at Castiel. When Castiel licked his lips (another unfortunate habit of stress) Dean chuckled softly to himself but looked up towards the stand. There, a prosecutor was standing before the judge presenting some documents. She turned towards the court.

“Ladies and gentlemen, peoples of the court, I would like to present to you our first piece of evidence. This is one of the first kills that these two committed all the way back in 2008- this was a set of six children, aged from five to 12, that were put into cages and mercilessly tortured for an undisclosed amount of time. They-”

“Four days, seven hours.” It was Dean… he caused the courtroom to fall silent, and the attorney to stop in her tracks… she had been pacing the floor.

“I beg your pardon?” She gaped to the shorter man. He nodded slowly to her before answering.

“We took them from tallest to shortest, and killed them shortest to tallest. The last one, the tallest, died on day four, at seven am.” The courtroom refused to even breathe as this information settled in. The attorney shook her head clear of the thoughts that had been placed there and resumed speaking.

“The six were found in the basement of a house that was being built in-”

“Cicero, Indiana.” It was Sam this time. He looked almost smug from his position. The attorney took less time to clear her head and tried her best to present the case, but the boys kept interrupting her with little facts that normally wouldn’t have been there- almost like they were proud of their work.

“One of the torture methods that can be seen on the children's bodies is that of what seems to be a draining like system, pulling all of the blood from the body-”

“We started with needles but that didn’t work well enough for us.”

“So we switched to just inserting a small tube into the back of their necks every night to take out more blood.”

“The blood was eventually found within the recesses of the walls, stored perfectly with labels on them-”

“Number one was in the lower level east side-”

“Two was lower level west-”

“Three was upper level north-”

“Four was upper level south-”

“Five was lower level north-”

“Six was upper level west-

“I wanted six to be lower level south, but Sammy boy here wanted three jars on each level.”

“I like consistency! Don’t sue me!”

“Ah, don’t worry Sammy, there aren’t here to sue us.”

“It’s not Sammy. Sammy was a fat 14 year old. It’s Sam.”

“Sure thing Sammy.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

This back and forth between the attorney and the Winchesters went on for the rest of the day. They covered the first five cases found, skipped five more and then went through ten-15. Every single murder was disgusting, bloody, revolting, and scarily creative. It went from draining their blood to decapitation- “with a butter knife”- to cutting out their tongues- “with a silver knife”- and even carving out a guy’s heart and replacing the blood in his body with lambs blood- “that one got really messy”. Overall, by the end of the first day three people had puked and one asked for counseling that night. But as the day eventually came to a close, they had only gotten through less than a month of murders and Sam and Dean Winchester had laughed through the entire day of being in court. And finally, Michael spoke out over the disturbed crowd in the court.

“Ladies and gentleman, I am drawing today’s court session to a close. All of you who are here voluntarily do NOT have to return here with us tomorrow, and I advise you all to remain with people who care about you tonight. Thank you for attending today.” Immediately everyone in the room got up and there was a flood of people trying to get out as fast at they could. But Castiel knew how to navigate crowds and waited as the rush slowly died down. The cops had taken position around the Winchesters once again and were getting ready to escort them out. And just as Castiel got up to walk out, a news reporter came up to him, camera rolling. She held out a microphone to him.

“Hello sir, I see that you are on the jury for the Winchester case concerning the 250 bodies found in the last six years. Can we get some thoughts on what you witnessed here today?” Her accent was thick, and Castiel placed it as Scottish, and her bright red hair flowed out dramatically around her shoulders. He stopped to look at her for a second… her bright red lips curling into a too-happy smile and those big dark eyes were focused in on him, trying to pick up any secret that he might share. He quickly adjusted his tie, which had become flipped around backwards, and answered.

“I will if you tell me your name, the news station you work for, and why you believe that I am the best candidate to answer your questions about this case.” He spoke slowly and confidently, trying to reassure himself that he was where he was supposed to be and everything. The news reporter looked slightly dumbfounded at the reply, her smile faltering slightly. But she shook it off quickly.

“Why of course dear. My name is Rowena, I work with channel 9, and I chose you because you are, not only the youngest person on the jury, but also one of the most intelligent people here-”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we have a list of the jurors back here with us and I looked up everybody. You took six AP tests your junior year, and then taught classes for teachers your senior year. You are gifted in so many skills of observation and understanding- we wanted to see your opinion on this case.” Castiel ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at her from under thick black eyelashes. He sighed before finally answering.

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead.” Rowena looked pleased with herself and dived right into the questions.

“What is your full name and age?”

“Didn’t we just go through this?”

“It’s for the camera. Name and age.”

“Fine. I am Castiel Novak and I am 18 years old. Next.”

“I like you, so demanding.”

“No I am just tired and a little grossed out.”

“Well ok then. Did you find that the evidence presented within the court today could be made as a point against sending the Winchester’s to prison?” She shoved her microphone a little closer to his face.

“Seriously? You are asking me if I believe that these two… these two monsters could be seen as innocent? Could be let to walk the earth without punishment? To be free of charges? No! Absolutely not. Their fingerprints are everywhere, they literally admitted- several times in fact- that they killed all of these people… not to mention the excruciating detail that they went into. Come on, they say that they are pleading ‘not guilty’ due to mental instability, but we all know that they are fully functional in society and could easily make a living for themselves as lawyers or judges anyways. They aren’t mentally crazy or anything, I feel that they are just two guys who were trained to kill.”

“And what makes you say that they are trained to kill? What could possibly be pointing you in that direction?”

“Aren’t I not allowed to say? I am not a court official or lawyer or anything like that.”

“Since all of our footage will have to be shown to the court anyways before it’s released to the public, why not just give your thoughts on why you believe that they were trained for this, and not just decided to go killing one day.”

“Whatever, fine. Well you can see in the way that they walk and talk that they are very confident in themselves. Everyone already knows that they don’t have any parents- that’s why they believe that they started all of this. But let me explain to you that their father has a D.O.D. nearly a full year AFTER all of these killings started. And let me bring to your attention that during these first six months that we were shown here today, the kills were sloppy and not cleaned up. These boys- dare I say it?- were lucky not to have been caught that early in the game. But, their killing styles were set apart from a third found. You see, the boys have an obsession with knives and blood, but there was a set of kills- victims eight, nine, and ten- that were first cut apart, and then had a gun used on them… short range, high caliber bullets. That was a different person. The gun was never found, and there was never a match on the make or model of it either as those were handcrafted bullets… the third person was inventive. I am going to say that there will be one more set of those kind of kills shown tomorrow, and then the father will die, and then that way of killing will never show up again. I believe that the father taught these two how to kill, demonstrated a few times, and then let them on their own in the world. They learned from their mistakes, and their style was altered slightly after eight, nine, and ten. They cleaned up their act. Literally. Anything else?” Rowena and her cameraman stood in stunned silence as Castiel finished up his little rant.

“Do we have permission to use this?”

“Not unless I see the final product first, I refuse to let you use this. I hope that camera is still on, because I will use that in a court case against you where I will sue you for fraud.”

“That’s perfectly fine, I will respect those wishes. One last question… what are you doing for college?” This time it was Castiel’s turn to go silent.

“What?”

“What are your plans for college?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe lawyer. Maybe tax accountant. Now please, if you don’t mind, I haven’t had anything to eat all day.” And he walked out from the courthouse into the fresh air that was slowly beginning to cool off as the sun set. Rowena, confident that she had all she needed, packed up her stuff to leave. Later that night, as she was going through the videos in her studio, she noticed something odd happening in the background that she hadn’t before. It happened when the guy first said his name and age.

“I am Castiel Novak-” Dean Winchester on the right side of the screen behind him looked up at Sam. “-and I am 18 years old.” Dean looked away from Sam and to the man standing in front of the camera… a sadistic smile was painting itself across his- terribly photogenic- face. But it got worse. “-a little grossed out.” Dean chuckled and looked at Sam, but the taller man wasn’t paying much attention to him as he was to looking around the courtroom. Dean returned to looking at Castiel. “-we all know that they are fully functional in society and could easily make a living for themselves as lawyers or judges anyways. They aren’t mentally crazy or anything-” Dean had been nodding along up until this point, agreeing with the man in the suit. But when it got to this, he stopped and visibly laughed, even if the audio hadn’t picked up on it from the last few people in the room who were moving chairs. But he laughed enough that the cop behind him smacked his wrists to shut him up. Rowena watched as an exchange between the two men happened behind Castiel as he continued speaking, the cops didn’t seem to pay any mind to the two mass murderers whispering behind them. The conversation started as Castiel finished saying “-they are just two guys who were trained to kill.” Rowena made special care to up the volume on this so that she could hear them.

“Dean, did he just say what I thought he said?”

“You mean the fact that only he of all of these assholes figured out that this didn’t start with us?”

“Yeah. He figured it out. What should we do about him? We can’t really do much in these chains.”

“Come on Sammy, think outside the box. We know his name, and he is my favorite age…”

“Dean, any age is your age.”

“Ok, but the fact of the matter is, is that he is 18, seriously smart, and already solved this case before we even got to the second section of films from our first year.”

“I know- did you hear him call us lawyers? I like this kid. Why would you want to get rid of him?”

“He just seems… I don’t know Sam. He would be a fun one to play with. I mean-”

“He looks strong, like he would put up a fight.”

“Exactly. But what really draws me towards him-”

“Is that he is this close to you. That you could run a couple of steps and knock him over before pushing your knee into his throat?”

“Well- yeah, but not only that.”

“It’s that he doesn’t care that you are that close to him. He probably knows that we can hear him, and he isn’t afraid.”

“Yeah. You know me so well Sammy.”

“And trust me, I would help you, but I actually kind of like this kid. Look at him- all energetic and smart… just your type!”

“No he’s not- well at least not for killing.”

“Exactly!”

“But I can still have some fun right?”

“When we get out of here, yeah. Go right on ahead.”

The video at that point was ended because the conversation with Castiel had finished. Rowena looked back and forth between the screen and the desk that she was seated at. She had been completely dumbfounded at the conversation that she had just recorded on camera. The Winchesters- THE Winchesters- were planning their next target… in front of the cops! But what could she do? They had already been caught, they were already in court, and she couldn’t exactly add on a charge of ‘suspicion’ from ‘apprehended criminals who were already in cuffs’ to the court case. Sighing in frustration, Rowena shut off the computer and went to bed, reliving the conversation in her dreams… only this time the words were paired with images from the court case.

Castiel walked back into the courtroom, ready to face the day. He had put the suit from the day before on but this time he was wearing a blue and white striped tie. Taking his place among the jurors, he waited for the proceedings to begin. Not twenty minutes later the large oak doors opened up into the courtroom, revealing the silhouettes of Sam and Dean Winchester. The jury stood at attention as they were marched past… and Castiel’s blood turned to ice when both sets of eyes locked onto his as they made their way to the stands. His breath shook as he sat back down. Michael made his way to the bench.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being present another day. Let us begin the trial; day two.”

The same as before, Castiel sat through file after file, mutilated body after mutilated body, snarky comment after snarky comment. The Winchester boys didn’t seem to have lost any of their sarcastic edge overnight, and they were making bad comments on each crime scene.

“Megan Troley, aged 24, found in Huntsville, Illinois. Death by-”

“Rapid injection of air into the bloodstream.” Sam had spoken first, as he usually does.

“No you stupid head. She’s the one that we loaded up with salt water and THEN did the air.”

“Oh yeah! She was a fun one.”

“Hunter Gloxxen, aged 13, found in Canton, New York. Death by-”

“Is he the one that we wanted to try the human centipede with?”

“Dean… if only one was found, he wasn’t the one we tried it on.”

“No, he was our practice dummy right?”

“Yeah, cut the tendons on the back of his legs, let him crawl around for a few days before finally finishing him off with a blow to the temple.”

“Would you two mind not describing my crime scenes for me?”

The ‘in unison’ thing was just flat out disturbing at this point. “Why would we stop?”

Castiel shuddered each time Dean Winchester looked his way, which, unfortunately, was often. Castiel even caught the two brothers conversing once while looking at him. It made him sick to think about why they were looking at him. But when the Michael called a recess, Castiel took the time to excuse himself to the restroom.

The floor was porcelain white and the walls were a nice beige color. As he made his way to the urinal and unzipped his pants, he caught sight of a reflection in the mirror that was stationed at the sinks. Pulling his zipper back up (no longer feeling the urge to pee) he turned around to see who was in the restroom with him. Empty. “Hello?” His voice echoed, bouncing off of the pristine walls. “Anyone there?” Only hearing the reflection of his voice, he went to the sink to wash his hands. Quickly doing so, he took a moment to splash his face with some water, reveling in the way that it dripped slowly from his clean shaven face into the white basin sink. He brought his head back up to look at himself in the mirror and startled when he saw a figure behind him. He turned quickly, but it was gone. Castiel left the bathroom with water still dripping off of his face and returned to the pews where he plopped in front of Charlie.

“Hey, you look white as a ghost there.” She placed one small hand on his shoulder and he immediately tensed. “Sorry…”

“No I-It’s my fault. I’ve been jittery all day.”

“I’ve noticed that. Would you like a piece of gum or something?”

Castiel gently shook his head, but water still flew. “No thanks Charlie. Can I ask you something though?” Her usually happy face pulled into a frown.

“Sure thing.”

“Have you noticed the brothers staring over here a lot?”

“Yeah… I guess.”

“Do you think that they are looking at me?”

“I think that they are just admiring the entire jury for all that it has to offer.”

“Ok… thanks Charlie.”

“No problem.”

They finished up their conversation as Michael called the court back into order. “Now on to our last case before I call lunch.” There was an audible sigh that filled the room, causing Michael to smile. “Yes, yes that does sound good. But we have to get through a few more pictures. Kylie Larson, aged 19, Kylie Traynor, aged 21, Kylie Maverik, aged 23, Kylie Hunt, aged 25. All black hair, all blue eyed, all found side by side in Roy, Utah. Boys, would you like to provide the reason for their deaths?” He looked down his nose to the two men who were relaxing in their chairs. Sam spoke up.

“The reasoning? Well we really liked the name Kylie that week, and to find four of them that all looked the same was nice, but the age difference was just poetic.”

“No Sammy, I think Judge Judy here is asking how we killed them.”

“Ahh, ok. Well, for the 19 year old we slit her throat. The 21 year old we slit her throat, but kept her alive, and then removed her spine. The 23 year old we slit her throat, cut out her spine and then we cut slits between all of her fingers. For the 25 year old we did all of that and then added on pulling her nails off before doing everything. But we only got to the fifth one before she passed out on us.”

“She wasn’t very fun.”

“No she wasn’t.” Sam looked up expectantly at the judge. “Do you think she was fun?” The courtroom gasped in disgust as Michael fumbled for words.

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“We were just wondering if you thought that she would have been a fun one to play with… you know, if you had been there?”

“Mr and Mr Winchester-”

“Please, we aren’t married. I am Dean and that is Sam. Thanks though for the consideration.”

"Sam and Dean Winchester, I would like to ask you to remain quiet for the rest of the court trial.”

“But you asked us for our thoughts…”

“And now I ask you to hold that blaspheming tongue of yours. Both of you.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Dean quietly laughed. at that. But Castiel shuddered because Dean had looked over once again at him, smiling and running his tongue across his lips.

“Lunch!” The flood of relief that washed through the courtroom was catastrophic, washing everybody out of their seats except for a select few, including Charlie, Castiel, and the man sitting a few seats down from them. Charlie and Castiel were engaged in a heated debate over whether Frodo really was the hero of the Lord of The Rings or if it was Samwise the entire time. But then the man a few seats down moved over closer to them.

“Hi, excuse me, my name is Jake. Do you think that the Winchesters are looking at us?” He smelled of stale alcohol and had bitterness engrained in his face. Castiel turned to him.

“Yeah, they have been doing that all day.”

“Do you think that they are looking at any one of us specifically?” The bitterness on his face was fading into fear.

“No. Beside if they were they can’t do anything. They are locked up.”

“True.”

“Jake, would you like to join Castiel and I to lunch?” Charlie offered up a generous invitation.

“I would love to, thanks.” Together they left to find a Subway, and Castiel refused to think about the feeling of two sets of very cold eyes on his back.

**********************************************************************************

The case dragged on for nine more days, then had one day of break because someone got a traffic violation and their case went into overtime, and then they were down to coming up with a final decision. Castiel and the rest of the jurors were released to go sort out the murderer's final say.

Michael stood at attention at the front of the courtroom, reigning control over the jittery people. He spoke out clearly to the court- the court that was devoid of Winchester blood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is our last day on the trial case. You have been presented with all evidence found at every crime scene. You have been spoken to by the Winchesters themselves about their actions taken on their victims. You have seen their devilish behavior in the court.

“But let me remind you before we bring them in, that this is no laughing matter. We are here today to see the final images of the boys’ killings before we take on their calling.

“Either innocent or guilty, we must remain calm in our words and actions. If seen as guilty they will be placed directly into death row and will await their death date. If found as innocent they will be taken back to the jail where they will claim their belongings, be transported away from the imprisonment center, and released back into society. I beg of you… make your decisions carefully and make your ideas fully thought out.

“We will now be bringing the charged into the courtroom.” Michael opened his arms wide and the rattling of chains echoed through the room, reverberating along the ribs of the courtroom and of the jury. They, again, walked with heads held high and moved as best as they could in their limited situation. For being in such poor placement in life they walked cockily and smugly. And again as they passed the jurors they made eye contact with the only person who was willing to look up from their notes… Castiel Novak.

As they sidled into their placements in the court, Michael had the final roll of images brought out- the final five victims of the Winchesters.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I present to you the final last five victims and their bloody glory. May the attorney against the Winchesters please say her piece for this final round of evidence.” The attorney stood at attention and faced the court. Her smooth voice rang out clearly throughout the room.

“We have here our final acts of murder. All committed within a week of each other, the final kills were all similar in their appearance and social standing.” Castiel got his pen ready. “All male,” he wrote it down, “all black hair,” he stopped writing, “all blue eyes,” he looked up from the paper, “all between the ages of 18 and 21,” he set the pen down, “all graduated from high school and were in the beginning stages of college,” he stilled his bouncing leg, “and all who were in the presence of the Winchesters for an extended period of time.” Castiel’s heart flew from his chest, ran into the wall on the opposite side of the courtroom and smashed through the window to find freedom.

“These had to be some of my favorites.” Dean Winchester stunned the courtroom into silence once again. But this time Michael would have none of it.

“Silence from both you and your brother. There shall be no crude or distasteful comments made in my courtroom today. You shall only speak when spoken to, or you shall raise your hand to ask a legitimate question. Lawyer Naomi you may proceed.” Michael was beginning to sweat… he dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Thank you your honor.” Naomi continued her speech. “As I was saying, all of these murders were within a one week time frame. But the acts put upon these young men were disgraceful and I hope that they had a God to meet once these- these-” she motioned to the brothers who sat in silence, literally twiddling their thumbs. “The heinous acts performed upon these boys were as followed: they were each drugged into unconsciousness with rohypnol and then transported to a disclosed location that will remain anonymous for the sake of the building’s owner who was, unaware, of the happenings within its premises.  

“From then on the boys were raped, bonded, and subject to instances of torture that included: sleep deprivation, restricted diets, bondage and gagging, confined solitude, beatings that included whipping, slapping, kicking, and cutting. Continuing the methods of torture with shackling victim to wall, dehydration, and concluding with methods of execution including hanging, blood draining, and decapitation.

“All five males were subject to these methods throughout the time span of one week. Let it be known that while they were placed in the same room after death, there is no evidence that they ever saw each other during the process.

“It is with deep regret that we say that since these men never saw any of the others that they died alone, under the vengeful wrath of these two.” Naomi motioned once again to the Winchesters. But by the time she had finished talking, Castiel had lost his sanity, his sense of direction. His leg was bouncing enough that it was sending shockwaves through the land and there was a seismometer in China was picking up the signal that a 9.8 scale quake was rumbling through the earth. And his spine had liquified, leaking out from his pores and freezing on his body as an icy blast of air swung through the open doors of the courtroom.

“May I ask a question, your honor?” Dean Winchester had brought Castiel out of his frozen state of shock that he had experienced since learning of the last five murders. His long arm was raised as high as he could get it, and an innocent look was painted on his disgustingly smug face. Michael, as annoyed as he was for the court to be interrupted, had to comply for the criminal had adhered to the given rules about speaking out in the court.

“Yes, I suppose that you may.” He wiped at his forehead with his white handkerchief and allowed the criminal to continue. Dean asked one more question.

“May I stand and address the court accordingly, your honor?” He added those last two words with a devilish grin and a sweet tone that would make honey curdle in it’s wake… honey… the one food in the world that cannot physically age. Michael put the handkerchief down, folded it into a little square, placed it in his lapel pocket, folded his hands in front of him, and stared down his long nose to the smug bastard who had his feet resting on the table that he was shackled to.

“If you feel that that is the best course of action for your case, then so be it. But I beg to you Mr. Winchester, that you take no more than a few minutes of our precious time.” Obviously the judge was stressed beyond relief, stretched to a maximum capacity of sanity after having been held so long in time with these two nut cases.

“Of course, sir.” Swinging his long legs off the desk, he gracefully stood, hanging his hands limply at his sides… well to the best of his ability at his sides. Having the chains on made it increasingly difficult to move his hands past the points of his hips, swing his legs more than six inches at a time, or even completely straighten his long and languid back. He looked out to the court where the jurors sat and cameras waited, watching his every move with precise definition. “Ladies and gentlemen of the court, those who are in the in-between stages, and those who do not define themselves as either. I would like to formally introduce myself to the court.

“My name is Dean Winchester. I am 25 years old, and I have been convicted of the crimes of mass murder, armed robbery, sacrificial practices and of being a charming daredevil. My brother here,” he motioned as best he could to the man at the other table, “is my little brother Sam. He is 21 years old and has been convicted of the crimes of mass murder, armed robbery, the hacking of government official documents, and of being the devil in disguise. We, together, have more than 600 body counts against us.

“But do not let our tough exteriors fool you. We are honestly gentle people who are out to save humanity. We do what we fucking want, when we fucking want it and there is no bullshit to that statement.” His voice, once calm and mild mannered now sparked with electricity, crackling and buzzing in defiance to the judicial court- anyone could see that. He grew more agitated as he paced inch by inch next to his table, gesturing more and more with his shackled wrist.

“We sit here before you, tried and prosecuted and tested. We have been captured and caged, literally beaten and abused by the officials that are supposed to be protecting us.” He was doing his best to gain sympathy from the court, to gain an audience that would support him and his brother.

“But you don’t want to hear that about us. You want to hear the juicy secrets that we are about to spill. You want us to tell you about how we are tortured souls, how we are innocent in all of this, how we are merely victims to society’s cruel standards of social acceptance.

“You see, my brother and I were manipulated beyond our control by our father… he raised us to be hunters, killers, but only so that we could protect our country from the horrors that await just outside of these stone walls. You think that you are all safe, that you live in a placid life. But let me let you in on a little secret. In the time that we have been in the court, for the week and a half, there have been three more kills.” He paused his walking, having sufficiently stilled the audience, apart from Castiel’s racing heart that is.

“I have this feeling, right here in my gut,” he placed his hands accordingly, “that this outcome is not going to be what you, or I, expect. So congratulations on your answer jury, this should be a fun next few weeks or so.” He smiled up at the crowd, smiled straight into the cameras that were flashing his picture and videoing the whole situation. But Dean held up his hand one last time.

“Ah, I have forgotten my manners, haven’t I Judge Judy? I was supposed to ask a question… Let me see what question I have sitting in the back of my head here…” He feigned a deep thinking posture before snapping upright again, joy alight in his cruel eyes. “Ah, yes. I was going to ask the judge and the lawyers a question.” They all shuffled in their seats a little bit, concerned for the question at hand. “Does it bother you that one of your jury members fits the description matching the last five kills we made?” His happy go lucky tone was drawn out and eventually muted by the uproarious effect of chairs moving, people whispering and hearts thrumming against bruised ribs. The clatter and commotion caused by the cocky question was more than unnerving... it was downright terrifying.

The jurors looked at Castiel and moved away from him, as if his appearance was an infectious disease that they could catch, earning them a one-way ticket to Death-by-Winchester. Castiel himself had gone stark white- he could feel the blood draining from his face, pooling in his stomach. The weight of the excess blood and the words that Dean said that now danced around his head made him want to puke, to rid himself of the foul taste that the Winchesters had put in the air. Michael rose from his chair and grabbed the gavel that, until this moment, had been gathering dust during the entire court procedure. Raising it proudly, he brought it down with sufficient force on the desk, echoing through the room.

“I demand silence!” Once, twice, three times he slammed the gavel on the desk, and eventually silence reigned supreme through the court. But as the silence fell on them like a lead curtain, the jury members had swung their individual chairs as far away from Castiel as they possibly could. Michael’s steely eyes scanned the room and it’s inhabitants for a moment before turning to Dean. “Sit down.” The demand, though quiet, forced the tall man into his chair. Michael then turned to the jury. “Move back to your places. Now!” With grumbling distaste the jury members returned to their places. Charlie had never moved her seat in the first place, and in turn, moved as closely to him as possible, deflecting the glares pointed at him.

“Thank you court for calming down. We will now take a recess and finalize our decisions on what to do with the Winchesters. Dismissed.” Michael used the gavel once more and stepped away from his seat, fleeing from the courtroom as quickly as possible. The jury members congregated together, starting to discuss the fate of these two lunatics.

“Well he made a threat against one of the jury members. Don’t you see? They are bat-shit crazy!” It was some man in a pale suit with a gold tie. Pompous jerk.

“Well he also said that there were a few more kills since they had been arrested and put into court. How could they know that? They don’t have access to TV or news, right?” Some lady with greying hair spoke up.

“That doesn’t mean that they don’t have people on the outside. Have any of you seen anything on the news lately about if there had been other kills? They could easily have accomplices out here in the on-jail world.” Charlie spoke up from behind Castiel, simultaneously laying a soothing hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, they could just have more people out here doing their dirty work for them. I say that they are guilty. I mean, how could they not be? They did admit to killing all those people. Did you see they way their eyes lit up when they were talking about how they did the killings?”

“Yeah! They are disgusting and cruel.” Some other woman to Castiel’s left spoke quietly. Her brown eyes flickered gently to Castiel. “Hey, are you ok?” They all turned to Castiel whose face was a flat sheet of fear, and little dribbles of sweat peaked out from under his mess of hair. Charlie squeezed his fingers a little bit, trying to keep him calm. But to no avail as he sprung from his seat, scattering the jury members that were around him.

“I- I’m sorry, I need the restroom.” He bolted from the courtroom and flew down the marble hallway to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Stumbling, he somehow made his way over to the porcelain sink and dropped his hands to the edges. With a shaky hand he turned on the water, filling the basin. He quickly picked up handful after handful of the warm liquid and rinsed off his face, daring not look in the mirror for he was sure that he would see a Winchester behind him.

But when the mirror was empty, he took a deep breath, trying to remember what meditation was. Five seconds in, hold for four, out for eight. Repeat. After a few rounds of catching, holding, and releasing his breath, his heart rate finally slowed back down to a fairly normal rhythm. Finding his calmness again was a little more challenging, but eventually he stopped sweating like a sinning preacher in a church. He collected his thoughts, and grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser to his right and dabbed at his forehead, removing the sweat that was starting to roll down his face. Then he straightened his tie and slowly made his way back to the courtroom.

The other jurors were still clumped together and were discussing the charge that they could put on the two brothers.

“Well, we all know that they are guilty, but are they insane?”

“Completely! Look at those two loons. Positively completely bat shit crazy.”

“Yeah, I mean, look at the way they freaked out little Castiel. They are totally insane.”

“No they aren’t.” Castiel spoke up as he slid into his seat. The looks he got from the other jury members was a mixture of fear and concern. “They aren’t insane, or mentally unstable. They are just sick and twisted.” The two women to his left turned away from him slightly. But that’s ok, they were older, they didn’t need to see this.

“How can you say that? After what they said?” What was his name? Oh, Chuck. “They practically called you by name.” The others nodded their agreements and inclined their heads towards Castiel as he began to speak.

“While deranged and disgusting as they are, they are not mentally unstable. They know exactly what they are doing and are playing everyone like the keys on a piano. Don’t tell me that only I, the one they spotted and have noticed for looking like the last people they killed, can see that they were taught to do this, and believe that their actions are ok.” The shy glances that the others made caused Castiel near physical pain, and he sighed out the tension.

“So, in the beginning, there were three different kinds of killing. Sam Winchester and his clean cuts and blood obsession. Dean Winchester and his messy cuts and his blood obsession. Then person X who cut and destroyed and then used a homemade gun to finish off his victims. For six months of kills it went on like this, and then they stop and are never seen again. I think someone was teaching them and then either got caught or killed. And then think about their father. He died early into their “hunting” career. It was probably their father and then he died. They know exactly what they are doing, and were trained in it. Mentally deranged, but not unstable.”

“You seriously think that they were trained to do this?” Charlie, with concern painted across her delicate features, looked down at the group.

“Yeah. I think so.” Castiel nodded his assurance to the group, and let them hash it out.

“Was there that pattern? Did anyone else see that?”

“Oh come on, that can’t be a real thing! Have someone teach them how to be monsters? No!”

“What was the father’s history?”

“Not a clue.”

“Nope, don’t know.”

“But do you all agree that they aren’t mentally unstable? That they knew what they were doing?” Castiel finally got a word in, causing others to quiet around him.

“Well, considering all that they were saying all those things about the people they killed, and how they acted, I would say that despite their cruel ways, they knew exactly what they are doing. I say mentally stable.”

“Does everybody agree to that, or can we go home early?” Castiel took a tally of everyone who nodded, and smiled. “Good, the consensus is mutual. Guilty and not mentally impaired.” They had one of the lesser known jury members go up to Michael and tell him that they were done, and handed him all of the paperwork that they filled out, telling Michael that they found them guilty and sane.”

The rest of the day seemed to drag on. Michael had to read every count for every person… three counts per person, and over 650 people found dead, that was almost 2,000 counts he had to read. When the final tally was read, some of the jury members and family members of those killed stood and shouted their 'hooray’s' in joy at the murderers being found guilty. Michael had to make one announcement before everyone, including the killers, could leave.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I hereby state that Samuel and Dean Winchester are found guilty, with no insanity charges placed against them. Due to the laws of the state of Illinois, they are not subject to death. They will be placed in prison, each with the number of life sentences of lives they took, without option of parole. Sentence is final.” He nailed the gavel on his desk one last time and spoke out among the twittering crowd. “Case dismissed.” The court erupted in shouts of joy at the final sentence, but Castiel could only look in one direction. The Winchesters.

The brothers were being stood up by the guards and paraded out of the courtroom. As they passed, the people of the court booed at them and called them names. But they payed no attention. But as they passed, they slowed down their steps. Sam looked through the jury one last time, and nodded to a couple of people who didn’t call names. And Dean… well, Dean looked straight at Castiel and spoke.

“Thanks for the sentence, Castiel.” He smiled, and winked, and Castiel’s blood turned to ice as Dean sauntered away as best he could in his chains.

**************************

A couple days went by since the ruling of the Winchesters. A few news stations had released their tapes, having gotten the final approval from the judge. Castiel was still a little shaken at having gone through the whole trial thing, but he refused to let it hinder his life. He continued searching for colleges to accept him, and he even sent out a few job applications. His nights were long and restless, usually with him tossing and turning to the point that the bed shook. He invested in some of that ZZZQuil stuff… it didn’t help. But once a full week went around, something strange happened.

It was another restless night for Castiel. Tossing and turning in his bed, nothing seemed right about the night. The shadows that danced along the walls were too dark, and the noises that sprang from the streets were too loud. Most nights were bad for him, but this one was just terrible.

So he got out of bed, went into his living room, and turned on the TV. He figured that he might as well be doing something if he was going to be awake. So flipping through the channels, he passed the Discovery Channel, the History Channel, even went past the nerd channels like HBO and the CW channel. But when he found the news, he felt something that he hadn’t in a long time. Complete terror.

 **WINCHESTERS MISSING FROM HOLDING CELL** bounced along the base of the news channel.

Castiel’s memories instantly flooded in from the last night of the trial; the way that Dean Winchester had known his name, looked him square in the eye. And now they were off of the map again. They had disappeared from their holding cells, of the toughest prison in Illinois, without a trace. So, knowing he had to fear the worst, Castiel turned off his TV, got up from his couch and silently walked over to his door to lock it. But the knob wouldn’t turn. It was jammed. And not just stuck, but there was something within the door lock itself, keeping it from moving.

That set Castiel’s hackles to stand on end. He stepped away from the door, glancing around him in every direction as he moved towards the kitchen area. Doing his best to remain calm and quiet he found his way to the knife drawer. As he reached for his steak knife, he kept a line of thought running through his head.

_There is no chance of them finding me. They don’t even know where I live. They wouldn’t have any access to my life. There is no chance of finding me._

But that did nothing to calm his nerves as he repositioned the steak knife in his hand which was quickly becoming slick with sweat. He died his hands against his sweat pants leg, stabilizing his grip on the homemade weapon.

Carefully shutting the knife drawer with as little squeaking as he could manage, and keeping his back away from the darkened hallway that lead to his bedroom and bathroom, and made his way to the window.

Usually keeping it open throughout the autumn months, the wave of the curtains was no longer reassuring to him. In fact, he almost dared not to touch them as they billowed lightly through the small apartment. Usually calmed through the cream colored soft fabric, the way they floated through the breeze as light as a feather. But that also means that the windows are open.

He ignored the way the hair on his arms stood as he approached the window. Keeping the knife between himself and the open spaces, he used his free hand to gently grasp the floating curtain and just as gently, ripped it back from the window as hard as he possibly could, jumping out of his skin when he saw that nothing was there. Smiling to himself in relief, he lowered the knife that he was holding at chest level, dropping his arm to his side. He chuckled to himself softly, speaking out loud to himself as he closed the window.

“Castiel, you are such a worrier. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“Silly boy.” Ice clogged in Castiel’s veins, his heart jumped out of his chest, his limbs locked in place, still grasping onto the window that he had pushed down into the sill. That wasn’t his voice. His voice wasn’t that deep, that calm, that sickeningly smooth. Like whiskey. Low riding, sitting softly in the quiet apartment, the voice wrapped its way around Castiel’s legs and climbed up his body, pulling itself up with impressive strength. As Castiel’s vision was starting to go black, his body fought back and he sucked in a breath. Leather.  He still refused to turn around and face the far too familiar voice in the face. He could tell who that was without looking behind him. Mostly because he had listened to that voice every day for the past two weeks, but also because his eyes traveled down the pane of glass and he could see the reflection of someone he really wished he would never see again. And finally his voice betrayed him.

“You’re Dean.” Surprisingly calm, Castiel’s voice didn’t waver at all. The knife still at his side suddenly felt very heavy and he slowly shifted the weight of it in his hand. He could hear the shift in weight behind him. The voice behind him spoke again.

“Yeah, that’s me. I know who you are too. You’re Castiel Novak.” Castiel’s heart was racing, but he refused to let his fear show through more that it already was in the way that his eyes danced around the window, looking behind him as best that he could. He saw the way that the massive guy behind him shifted his body in just a way that it covered up the rest of the reflection from Castiel’s eyes. “Why don’t you turn away from the window there, Castiel. Face me.”

“Why would I?” Castiel shifted the knife once again in his hand, only turning his head, partially, towards the intruder. He heard the soft chuckle from behind him. It’s rolling quality.

“Because that knife isn’t going to help you and I am asking you very nicely.” Castiel watched as Dean tilted his head. And eventually Castiel turned towards the voice that beckoned him with a sweet sincerity. First his feet, and then his shoulders, and eventually he turned his head enough to look the man straight in the eye. Dean wore a heavy leather jacket over a flannel shirt that hung open over a grey tee. He had on jeans that hung easily on his strong hips, and military grade boots of a thick but soft looking leather sat upon his feet.

“You are looking at my shoes.” Dean dropped his eyes from Castiel to look at the shoes that clad his feet, and then looked back up to the younger man. “Yeah, these are my favorite ones. You see how they are so silent? You didn’t even hear me walking behind you as you watched TV.” As if to emphasize his point of his quiet shoes, Dean paced back and forth on front of Castiel, not even trying to be quiet. Castiel saw the way that the muscles moved under his jeans, how he set his foot down just as hard as Castiel had been before he realized that there could be somebody in his living space. The worn tread of the shoes was so soft that not even the old floorboards squeaked as he moved. And Dean Winchester wasn’t a small guy anyways. Dean stopped back in front of Castiel, at least two feet closer than when he had started walking.

“Wow, that’s- uh, that’s nice.” Castiel swallowed the fear that was threatening to push it’s way up and out of his throat as he spoke. If Dean noticed the change of Castiel’s voice, he didn’t mention it.

“Yeah they are. So is that steak knife you are holding. But kiddo, you’re holding it all wrong. You see-” Dean lurched forward and grabbed Castiel by the shoulders in such a quick motion that he couldn’t even move out of the way in time, didn’t even flinch. Dean trailed his left hand down Castiel’s right arm to where he held the knife with the blade pointing towards Dean. Dean merely smiled at the innocent way that Castiel held the massive blade. The height difference of the two wasn’t as dramatic as Castiel had one thought, Dean was only one or two inches taller than he was, but Dean was far wider, stiff with coiling muscles that were ready to spring at any moment.

“You see, with the knife pointing up in your grip-” He wrapped a hand around Castiel’s clenched fist. It was rough, calloused, thick with power, “-you will hurt yourself if you fall down. Now, turn the blade so that it’s pointing down, like that,” he adjusted the blade in Castiel’s shaking hand, “and keep the dull edge up against your forearm. That way if I were to come at you, you could swing at me but still be able to block because your arm is up.” Dean sent another smile to Castiel who reeled back from the beauty of it. Serial killers shouldn’t be pretty!! His teeth were perfectly white and straight in a neat row. And as perfect as a smile as it was, it was still threatening… deadly.

“Thank you?” Castiel finally managed to squeak out those two words as Dean released him from his tight grip, letting the shaking Castiel to stand on his own. But for some odd reason, his voice stayed still. At those words Dean tilted his head a little bit again. But he straightened it back out as he nodded his reply.

“You’re welcome. Now, I usually like to have a little fun with my toys before I break them. Come here, sit down. Let’s have a talk.” Dean shot another predatory smile to Castiel and walked backwards to the couch. Castiel risked a quick glance to the door and let his face fall in fear when he saw that it was closed, and the lock turned. When Castiel looked back to Dean, he was met with a cold glare from the man who was now stretched out comfortably along his couch, one arm resting over the back of it. “I thought I told you to sit down, Castiel.” Robotically, Castiel placed one foot in front of the other and crossed the short distance to the end of the couch that was not occupied. He stiffly sat down. The grip that Castiel kept on his repositioned steak knife was turning his knuckles white. But it was Castiel who spoke first, testing the malleable silence.

“Are you going to kill me?” He knew he shouldn’t have asked that, not with the way that Dean’s emerald green eyes seemed to burn with excitement at the thought.

“Well, yes. But Castiel, the more you tell and the more you say, the quicker your death will come. It won’t be painful if you do everything I say and answer any question I have. Ok?” Dean had remained lounged back against the couch, one long leg propped up on the coffee table.

“Ok.” Castiel nodded, feeling how the hackles on the back of his neck pulled tight when he moved. He tried not to wipe at the small bead of sweat that was slowly traveling down the midline of the back of his neck, threatening to go down into his soft shirt. He didn’t like the way that Dean’s eyes pierced right through him, as though reading every thought that had ever crossed through his head. He didn’t like how Dean looked so at ease in the apartment that he had broken into, how he was all splayed out on the couch, looking like he was ready to watch a game with a cold beer in his hand.

“So Castiel, do you have any beer that you could offer your house guest? It’s a little hard to get anything right now, you know, since having escaped from prison and everything. Security camera’s everywhere.” Oh my god that is terrifying.

“Uh, no I don’t. I’m only 18, I can’t buy beer or whiskey or anything.”

“Now I didn’t say anything about whiskey. Where did you get that from?”

“You just seem like a guy who would like whiskey. I’m not sure.” Dean nodded content with the answer that poor Castiel had given him.

“Well I can’t say that you are wrong in that aspect. If you want, you can hold that knife while we talk. It might make you feel “better” or “safer”, but in the end it won’t do you much good.” Dean actually had the audacity to make little air quotes as he spoke. His line of sight had traveled down Castiel’s body to his white knuckled grip on the tool… a grip that was sitting right on top of his- “But you know, it’s all up to you.” He threw those calloused hand up in defense at the last line he spoke, trying to make it seem like Castiel actually had a choice in the matter… but he knew he didn’t.

Castiel lifted his shaking hand, that still held the steak knife, and laid it as gently down on the coffee table as he could. The way that he could see Dean smile out of the corner of his eye forced his stomach into his throat again, but he still held the urge to scream and run at bay. “Can I ask a question?” He had no clue what he was doing, but apparently sitting in a room with America’s most wanted had the effect to make him want to have a conversation. He leaned back from the knife, unsure of how this was going to go. But apparently, it went pretty well. Dean still seemed at ease.

“Sure, go on ahead.” He tilted his chin up a little bit, still demanding respect as he was lounged in the couch. “But only if each of yours is paired with one of mine. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s a deal.” Still trying to remain in control of his voice, he pushed away the breaking sounds he knew were starting to show up. “Where’s your brother? You’re here, so where would he be?” Castiel guessed that was the right thing to ask because Dean shook his head, chuckling gently to himself.

“Sammy is stationed up with a buddy of ours. He’s already made it to Nebraska. Now, my turn.” Castiel’s back went rigid as Dean sat up and put both feet on the floor. Resting his forearms on his knees, he hung his hands limply between his legs. He looked up at Castiel through thick, dark eyelashes that curled, casting long shadows on cheeks that were covered in freckles- “What the hell is up with your name? Castiel?” The sigh Castiel let out was audible, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let out the breath he had been holding.

“Uh, my parents were very religious. The first born was Michael, then they jokingly named their second son Lucifer. Then came Gabriel, and then myself. We had a little sister, Heal, but she went missing last year.We- we actually thought that The Winchesters had gotten her. But she’s still missing, and she never showed up in your case, so, yeah.” He clamped his mouth shut so hard that the click from his teeth rang out through the apartment. He had just shared the names of his family with a mass murderer. How could he have let himself get so relaxed to do that?

“Ah. Sounds, sad.” The murderer feigned remorse, but the false emotion passed his face quickly enough. They sat in silence for a moment before his low voice spoke up again. “It’s your turn to ask a question, Castiel.” Castiel nodded, remembering the bargain.

“What happened to the rest of your family? Where are they?” This time, actual concern laced it’s way into his words before he could stop himself. He also bit his tongue when he saw the dark emotions flash across those speckled cheeks. Those emerald jewels of eyes cast themselves away from the sapphire ones, boring burning holes into the wall. But he did end up speaking. So quietly at first that Castiel leaned closer to the criminal.

“Well, by blood, it’s just Sammy and me-”

“Sammy and I. Uh, sorry… I’m a bit of a grammar freak. Continue, please!” Castiel’s spine stiffened when the cold glare cut from the wall to him. That didn’t last long though. Soon those green eyes softened, turning the monster in front of him slightly human.

“Well, it’s just Sammy and I. But a crazy old man once told me that ‘Family don’t end in blood’. He was right. My mom, she died in a house fire when I was nearly five. She was up late baking cookies because dad had gotten home from a business meeting. Anyways, she accidentally fell asleep while waiting for the timer, the one that never went off.

“The kitchen was in flames by the time dad woke up. He smelled smoke and ran upstairs, ‘cause that’s where Sam and m- I, were sleeping. He woke me up first, told me to get my brother and get out of the house as fast as I could. And I did.

“Dad ran through the upstairs trying to find mom but, but she was already gone. And by the time I had gotten Sam out of the house, well, there were a few seconds of calm… then dad ran out of the house, scooped us both up, and ran just as the fire hit the gas line. Sam was six months old.

“From there, dad just kind of dropped us off at his best friend’s place, the guy that we call our uncle. He’s still kicking… metaphorically. Poor idjit got himself landed on by a car that we were fixing up together two years ago. Anyways, dad would come by every so often, and we would all go hunting. Animals! We would hunt animals!” He clarified himself as he saw Castiel’s eyes dilate in fear. “We would go out and get elk, deer, he even took us up to North Dakota once and we bagged ourselves a moose.

“But from there, dad really got into drinking. He took us away from Bobby and his new wife Ellen, and took us on the road with him. Staying in crappy motels, eating crappy foods, but making sure that we paid attention whenever we killed something. I was about thirteen the first time that dad “accidentally” shot someone while we were hunting. In the middle of the woods, he had on one of those orange vests and everything. Dad just, poof! Shot the guy through the back of the neck. Clean kill I guess you could say. Well, it spiraled downhill from there.

“When I was about your age, 18, dad started killing regular folk, like you and me. Just got down and dirty. He showed us how too. And we got really good. And, you already figured out that dad died about a year into our “hunting” career. Son of a bitch walked into a hospital and shot himself in the mouth. They didn’t release that story to the news... “ Dean sat quietly for a minute, just taking in what he had just blurted out about his family. Castiel was sure that Dean could hear his heart racing around in his chest, like a racehorse on a closed track. But when Dean did finally sit back up, leaning against the back of the couch again, he had a calm, peaceful look on his face.

“You know Castiel, you’re a real good listener. Been awhile since I’ve just, talked. I usually can’t do that with Sam because then it turns into “feelings” and shit.”

“Y-you’re welcome. You didn’t ask a question to me.” Castiel’s voice was no longer shaking, but the stutter was from the horror of what he had just heard. Was it wrong that he was actually kind of feeling bad for this guy? This monster? Surely it was.

“True. I have to know… do you have any big plans for the future? I mean, you live alone in this nice ass apartment, where the hell are you going with your life?” Out of pure curiosity for why Dean would ask this kind of question, Castiel looked up at him. Looked at the way he was slumped back against the back of the couch, the way that his legs were wide, the way that his hands were relaxed. But there was something else about him. The subtle way that he had raised his head in anticipation for the answer. The slight way that confusion danced through his eyes, while at the same time being backlit by joy and freedom. Dean actually had no clue what somebody could do after getting out of high school; he had no clue that there could be anything such as a life. After all, he had never known what one was.

“Uh, I’m looking into colleges. I want to do something with math, so maybe become a math teacher or become a tax accountant, something like that. Math is something that I’ve always been able to understand. There is always an answer and that answer will always be the same no matter what happens. And if something goes wrong, you know right where the problem is. It’s consistent, it’s steady, reliable.” This time when he spoke, Castiel didn’t look away from Dean. He spoke directly to the killer, as if nothing was wrong with the picture that was being painted.

“I guess that kind of makes sense. You know, Sam wanted to become a lawyer. He had these big plans to go to Stanford, not Harvard, but Stanford and become a lawyer and work for big cases, like ours was. He was going to get murderers out of jail time, and he was going to put innocent people in. He was going to go far. Even had the grades for it, despite moving towns every month or so.”

“So is that why when you guys walked into a courtroom it was like he was seeing Narnia? The way that his eyes got all big and everything? Because he had wanted to end up there?”

“Yeah. I guess he did, even if it wasn’t the way that he exactly wanted. Wait, are we actually having a real conversation here?” Dean slowly sat up from the couch, returning his arms to his knees and looking Castiel dead square in the eye. Castiel was just as much in shock as the murderer… they were just, talking. Like real people, they were having a conversation.

“Yeah, I guess that we are.” Dean nodded, seeming to understand. But what he said next returned Castiel to the knowledge of just who this guy was and what he is capable of.

“It’s odd, I usually don’t have conversations with my toys before I have fun with them. This is kind of nice.” Castiel wished that he had witch-like powers so that he could curse the glowing smile that Dean gave off.

“I bet, yeah. So, uh, it’s your turn for the questions.” Dean nodded, the smile slowly loosing it’s size but kept its luminescence.

“Ok, last one though. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.” Castiel’s eyes flew wide open at having said that. He wasn’t supposed to have said that. But when he looked back up to Dean, something clicked, and not in a good way.

“Excellent.” That predatory grin returned to the killer’s face, and as he stood up from the couch, towering over the still sitting Castiel, dark shadows threw themselves across the room.

“Wait, stop! What are you doing?!” Castiel reeled back as far as he could into the couch, putting his hands up in failed defense as Dean’s own large calloused ones closed in on him. Those arms seemed to be forever long, and finally grasping at Castiel’s soft cotton tee, hoisted him to his feet. Now, Castiel was not small. Six foot, has already ran three marathons, and worked out three times a week, he was strong. But he was still no match for the monster who had him trapped.

He figured that he would have screamed, would have made some sort of noise to fight against this guy, but the room, the apartment, remained silent apart from the scuffing of boots against the hardwood floor by Dean. Their scuffling made it’s way, towards what Castiel figured was the bedroom, and stopped as he was pushed up against the door.

Castiel figured that we would have made a move to fight back, to do something to get away from Dean, but his body didn’t respond to the internal terror that he felt. He figured that he would be able to fold his hands into a praying position between Dean’s arms, grab Dean’s head, and start gauging his eyes out and then knee him in the balls and make an escape, but he couldn’t get his body to execute those moves. And his mind went completely blank when Dean leaned back in even closer to him.

“Open the door, Castiel.” Four simple words, short and clean words, only seven syllables, and it took his entire willpower to accomplish. He lowered one hand that was gripping onto Dean’s leather sleeve, and reached back behind himself to find his doorknob. Twisting it slowly, he actually leaned in closer to Dean as the door swung open, propping himself up from falling backwards. “Good job. Your wrists won’t be cut. Now walk.”

Castiel complied, moving his feet backwards, out of the way of Dean’s heavy and soundless boots. They way they they filed into the bedroom was enough of a scary movie that Castiel would have turned it off.. actually he would have turned it off the second that Dean had sat down on the couch to talk with the poor, hopeless lead whose young life was just getting started. _I could have been a writer_. The way that the back of Castiel’s legs hit the side of his bed, buckling under him, causing him to fall onto his back would have given Castiel the motivation that he needed to bring one of his legs up to hit Dean between his own two legs. _I should have taken karate_. But his thoughts were shut down when Dean growled in his ear.

“You’re a good guy, Castiel, and I don’t like to cause pain to good people. So be a good person and strip.” Dean, stepping away from Castiel, traveled down the younger mans body from shoulder to waist and wrapping to the inside of those thighs that carried Castiel for miles on end when he ran. And the ways that Dean’s fingertips traced heavy lines towards Castiel’s cock, and it regretfully started to turn it hard.

Knowing that he was trapped, Castiel had no choice in the matter as he sat up on his own bed, and pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his chest to the man who stood guard at the door. Next Castiel pulled off his socks, tossing them over to the laundry basket in the corner of his room, next to the shirt. And finally, slowly, he stood from the bed on unstable legs and released the tie at the top of his sweats. A cool blast of air rushed past Castiel’s length, causing it to stir and begin to bob on the gentle breeze. He should have worn underwear. But as Castiel looked away from himself, away from his captor, feeling ashamed for his body, Dean was slack jawed and taking it all in. Those long and lean limbs, that gently chiseled chest, the muscular legs, and the length that was softening again after getting used to the cooler air.

“I really like what I see, Castiel. Do a little turn for me.” The wicked smile that planted itself on Dean’s face as Castiel looked up at him was disgusting. Wicked and slimey, Dean used one finger to motion a twirl. So Castiel, keeping his eyes averted from both himself and from Dean, slowly spun, showcasing his body to the murderer whose devilish grin was casting dark shadows along the walls of the dimly lit room. “Awesome.”

Castiel lurched away, just slightly, as Dean took several quick steps towards him, reaching out one long arm. His body shuddered as cool fingertips brushed against his bare skin, tracing soft lines along his arms, up on his shoulders, down his spine… but they never crossed into the worse of the undesired places that Castiel wished he wouldn’t be touched. But the eyes were alway there, those green, venom filled eyes that leaked lust and swam in beauty. Those eyes saw everything. Including the way he shivered from fear.

"Aww, now don't worry about anything. You see, I'm actually nice about this stuff. I don't kill the ones I fuck. That's Sam. He fucks them until they literally can't move and then he kills them. I usually pass off mine to him to finish off. Never did feel it was right to kill something that you had made love to. How about you, little Castiel? Do you fuck to fuck or fuck to make love?" Castiel shied away from how Dean drew out his name.

"I-I don't fuck at all. Never have. And I wasn't sure if I was ever going to... But I guess you're about to solve that for me, huh?" He dared not look in the other man's eyes, for even saying that he was a virgin- it was shameful. Dean brought a hand up under Castiel's jaw and forced him to look at him. Those harsh green eyes had suddenly softened, yet we're still nowhere near sane.

"You've never screwed anyone? Never entered or been entered? Dude, that's a little sad. I'm going to ask why, so you're going to answer." Of course he still demanded respect. Can't let the scrawny 18 year old get a hand over you in any way.

"Personal choice, even though I've had opportunity. And thank you for not assuming my sexuality." He halted himself, aware that he was thanking the man who was about to kill him, for his kindness with sexual orientations.

"You're welcome, I like to be a gentleman like that. Much like I am a gentleman when it comes to those like you, who are inexperienced in this department of life. So, instead of tearing you open and making you scream in both pain and pleasure, I will keep you with me and we will work up to that. What's that called... You know, where you just do whatever I want including screwing?" Unfortunately he knew the answer, so he spoke.

"A sex slave. You're thinking of sex slaves." He cast his sapphire eyes to the ground in shame as Dean’s emerald eyes lit with joy. It was so disturbing… and then there was the fact that Dean was a serial killer who had just escaped from a maximum security prison, so there was that to actually focus on at the moment.

“Ah, I’ve heard of those before.” His left eyebrow shot up. “Kinky.” A wicked smile much like the Jokers spread across his face and finally Castiel raised his eyes to meet his captors. That wasn’t such a good idea. For as soon as his eyes were up, Dean took the step that brought them close enough to touch… but he didn’t touch. No, he looked down with admiration, but he didn’t ever actually touch Castiel’s again-soft member. As he drew near, he stepped into the light from a nearby streetlamp whose orange glow leaked in through the partially open window. It danced across his face, illuminating every soft and sharp edge of that chiseled face and Castiel saw something that he hadn’t really noticed before… Dean was covered in freckles. So much so that he saw the Big Dipper up along his left temple and Orion cascading down the right side of his neck. He let out a soft gasp as Dean pressed even closer. The thick material of his jeans finally brushed Castiel and he cursed himself for the way that his cock sprang to life.

“Dean, wait, please.” He turned his head to the side as Dean leaned in and down towards Castiel. But he pulled up abruptly when Castiel exclaimed.

“What?” The smell of peppermint danced from Dean’s too-close mouth. Castiel began to pant, his anxiety seeping through the well conditioned exterior of his calm self. Dean actually pulled back in concern. But when Castiel had caught his breath again he wasted no time in diving in, grasping both sides of Castiel’s head with his rough hands and kissing him, sucking him dry right then and there. He tried not to kiss back, but when he didn’t react to Dean, the murderer growled and lowered one hand from his head to his neck.

At first it was messy and very unsatisfactory, what with a clash of teeth and a bitten lip. Castiel had done this before, but that was pretty much it. But Dean was obviously more experienced, and whether that was with consenting or non-consenting second parties, Castiel didn’t know and honestly didn’t want to. He just focused on breathing and trying not to run screaming. If he ran away screaming like the people in movies did, he would die a lot faster and with a lot more pain.

“What are you doing?” Castiel snapped out of his slight daze and looked at Dean, his eyes getting darker by the second. He was standing there open mouthed.

“What? I didn’t do anything...did I?" He stared blankly at the man before him, unsure of what he had done exactly when he was zoning out. Did he start biting Dean, or did he say someone else's name- wait, why would he have said Dean's name anyways? Who knows.

"You were like, talking to yourself. I don't want to say that it was weird, but it kind of was. Do you do that often?" Castiel could tell by the annoyed look in his eyes that Dean would take care of the problem permanently if it persisted. But since he didn't even know that he was doing it, he couldn't give an honest answer to the question.

"As far as I know I don't, but I didn't even register that I was saying anything so I can't be sure."   Dean just kind of looked blankly at him, unsure of how to respond. When he finally did find words that would work, they weren't what Castiel thought that they would be.

"Wow, when you talk, I don't really hear anything. It's like, mwah-mwah-mwah... you ever see those Peanuts Cartoons and how the teacher is just droning on? Yeah, that's you. And you said something along the lines of 'just breath, in and out, don't run'. Come on dude, you wouldn't be able to outrun me anyways. I'm a fucking gazelle." Dean rushed in close again, pressing his lips to Castiel's, not even waiting for the other party to say yes to the kiss. Dean was hungry, the way that he tried to swallow Castiel whole, the way that he forced Castiel's jaw open to gain better access to the depths of his mouth.

Castiel's hands fluttered about in the space around them, not sure if he should put it between them and risk something horrible happening, or rest it on his shoulder and encourage him, or let his hands drop and let Dean think that he wasn't interested... well, he wasn't but that choice wasn't really up to him right now.

"Damn you taste good. I bet the rest of you tastes even better. But right now, I need taken care of." Dean shoved Castiel away from him, the one sided-heated moment ripped apart as Castiel stumbled and landed on his bed. Dean took the spared moment to re-approach Castiel, unzipping his pants as he moved. It was only two steps that Dean had to take to reach Castiel again, by this time his pants beginning to drop.

"Wait, I- stop-" Castiel tried to plead with the sexed up monster that was now towering over him, but was hushed as Dean laid a calloused hand over his mouth, effectively muting him.

"Like I said, when you talk, all I hear is mwah-mwah-mwah. So let's spare us BOTH the confusion and have you shut up." He used the hand that was resting over Castiel's mouth to shove him back on the bed, his legs spreading wide as he fell to his back. Dean hummed an appreciative noise, before climbing onto the bed after Castiel, his pants now past his buttocks, and his boxer briefs just starting to tent, pulled taut by a quickly growing member that was not only visibly long, but wide. Of course, Castiel couldn't help but to stare.

"You enjoying the show, Castiel?" He started to kneed at the bulge under the stretched fabric, keeping eye contact with Castiel the whole way that he crawled closer. From this angle he looked more like a tiger than a human, the way the the orange light danced across his skin in response to the blackened shadows of the curtain, how his green eyes were still bright in the dark room, how his smile was more predatory than usual. His canines flashed as he sent a wicked grin to Castiel.

The way that Castiel was laid out on the bed, with arms up near his head and legs slightly spread, made it easy for Dean to straddle him, arms and legs on either side of the younger man. When Dean reached the point where they were face to face, he dropped his body down to rest against Castiel's, yet he still supported himself as he slowly rocked his hips back and forth, up and down, brushing their cocks together. The scrape of the material against Castiel's member made him gasp. Dean smiled a crooked smile at that and started rutting harder and faster, bringing Castiel to the edge of orgasm without even touching him. And Castiel didn't mean to whine when Dean suddenly lifted himself off of him.

"I want off, and you're not allowed to get off. At least not here. No. I don't ever fuck someone in their own house. I fuck someone only where I trust. And this SO isn't it." Dean scooted up further along the bed, until his hips were even with Castiel's shoulders. He shimmied his underwear off over his butt, and then his cock sprang free, several drops of slick precum flying off. One landed next to Castiel's left eye, and Dean reached a hand down to wipe it off, ignoring the grimace of disgust from Castiel.

"Start sucking. I want off, and you're going to get me there." Dean lowered his hips enough that he was nearly sitting on Castiel's chest, still dominating the situation, never letting Castiel think that he had any control of the situation. So when Castiel grabbed at Dean's throbbing and heavy member, he started with what he knew from the few porn tapes that his friend Balthazar had given him for his 18th birthday.

The first thing that he did was lick a slow stripe up from the base of Dean's cock to the top, trying not to gag at the initial taste. And it wasn't even the taste that was bad about this, but that this was Dean Winchester, one of the two most deadly serial killers in the United States, the other being his younger brother. Apparently he did something right with just that first move because Dean let his head fall back in ecstasy, letting a quiet moan escape from those plush lips. Castiel followed with dipping his tongue into the slit of Dean's head, not even realizing at first that Dean wasn't cut.

"Ah, right there baby. Ahh..." Dean moaned along to each dip of Castiel's tongue, and each swirl of his head. He nearly lost control of his vocal chords when Castiel finally pulled Dean's dick down into his mouth. The position that they were in wasn't ideal, but considering that he could have had his ass literally ripped in half by the giant of a member that was currently in his mouth, he wasn't complaining all that much. He bobbed his head as best as he could. As he took a long pull from as deep as he could, he felt Dean's inner thighs shudder. And suddenly the heat was gone. Dean had pulled himself out of Castiel was was repositioning himself on the bed, so that he was sitting back against the headboard. He was pulling off his underwear all the way with one hand and was stroking his slippery self with the other.

"You're not done, because I'm not." His voice was strained and taut, and even little virgin Castiel knew that he was about to come undone from the pressure that was building up inside of his body. So Castiel flipped to his hands and knees and lowered himself back onto Dean, taking his heat as far as he could. The rest that didn't fit in his mouth was being massaged by Castiel's hand. The other was supporting his body weight with an elbow on the bed. The wet 'pop' that he made when releasing his mouth made Dean's thighs quiver again.

"Oh my gods, how are you a virgin? Shit- fuck!" This time he let his voice carry as Castiel plunged back onto Dean. He saw Dean's thick balls begin to coil up, ready for their release. He was just about to pull up and off so that Dean could shoot, but his head was slammed down onto Dean's pelvis, cock going down the back of his throat, nearly triggering his gag reflex, as Dean's hands wound their way into his hair, forcing his head down. Castiel's eyes watered with the pressure in his throat, and blinked back the stick of Dean thrusting his hips up even farther, spewing his semen down Castiel's wrecked throat. Dean came with a great cry, like an animal during mating season... which after all, was close enough to what was going on to be considered truthful.

Castiel gagged a little bit on the hot liquid that now streamed down the back of his throat, burning and sizzling on it’s way down. But he couldn’t move because Dean still had hold of his shaggy hair between his hands, keeping his head pinned down between those splayed legs. Finally when Castiel started choking and couldn't breathe did Dean let up on his hold. Castiel gasped for air.

"Ah man, that was fantastic. Oh yeah, I am totally keeping you." Castiel choked again, but this time on Dean's words. He dared not to say anything in retaliation, but took to wiping his red and swollen lips with the back of his hand. Dean was just moaning in pleasure, his wet cock softening against his thigh. He still wore his shirts and jacket, so when he pushed himself off of the bed, the squeak of leather rocked Castiel back into reality.

"Keep me? Wh-what do you mean?" He watched in fear as Dean redressed himself, first wiping his cock off with Castiel's shirt that he picked up off of the floor. When he finally tucked himself back into his pants he looked over at Castiel with hooded and possessive eyes.

"I mean, that several of the people that my brother and I kept, we kept for pleasure. That means that they weren't as fun to chase around, and that we were both hungry for some fun times. Sam took only girls, and I took about a 50/50 mix of girls and guys. You know, they are both fun to play with." He zipped up his pants and made his way over to Castiel. He regretted how his member was starting to raise again. This was not sexy or anything.

"So you just kept sex slaves with you? Really?" He looked away from Dean as he walked closer to him.

"Well, they weren't slaves. You see, we let people go whenever they wanted. But the sooner they ran away, the sooner they died. They knew that. The longest one that we had was this little blonde girl. Sam grew really attached to her. Uh, what was her name... ah, Jessica. Sam even let her sleep in his bed with him, made her meals, actually took care of her. And I think that she started to suffer from that one mindset where the captive starts falling in love with the captor.. do you know what that's called?" He actually scratched at his head, concentrating on figuring out what it was called. But it popped into Castiel's head right away.

"Stockholm syndrome." He almost started to tell Dean the backstory of the name, but he knew that Dean wouldn't care. But he started to wonder how Dean even knew about the name of that anyways. "How do you even know about what Stockholm syndrome is?" Dean had come up close to Castiel again, but had picked up Castiel's pants along the way.

"Well, I'm not completely stupid. After all, I did actually go to school. I just wasn't very good at it. Sam was always the best at that sort of shit. That's why he was such a smart ass when we were in court." He handed Castiel's pants back to him, which Castiel accepted with caution. "Sam taught me a lot of stuff that I never learned in school. You know, like the Stockholm syndrome thing and all of his lawyer shit. He thought, when he was younger, that he was going to become a lawyer, so he learned everything that he could know about the judicial system. And everything about contracts and loopholes."

Dean leaned back and watched with anticipation as Castiel slipped into his pants, tucking his untouched dick into his pants. When he stood up to get them all the way up, Dean raked his eyes up Castiel's body, taking in every detail that he absolutely could with those demented eyes. Castiel tried not to blush as Dean hummed in appreciation as he bent over to pick up the shirt that Dean had used to wipe off his dick. It was wet and slightly sticky, so he tossed it into the laundry basket in the corner of his room.

"So you are still keeping your room clean, even with a serial killer in the room." Hearing Dean admit that freaked Castiel even more than the fact that he just gave him head. The sticky and gel-like feeling of semen down the back of his throat was keeping him from speaking. Then again, he didn't know how to respond to Dean telling him that he was a serial killer.

"Yeah, it's- it's habit to do so. I'm used to moving around a lot so it's better to just keep it clean so that I can get going faster than if I don't. But that's a long story that is not interesting to you or really anybody else. So," he looked back up to Dean, his tall figure now backed up against the closet door, "what are you going to do to me?" He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to know, but he was more than scared than curious.

"Well," Dean stood back up and pretty much looked down on Castiel, being the two inches taller that he is. "First I plan to cover your mouth and your eyes so that you can't see or scream, then I will take the zip ties that I have in my pocket and tie your hands behind your back. From there I will put clothes into a bag for you, turn off your lights and TV because those bills are fucking expensive, and then you will be getting into the car that I stole. From there we will go back to where my car is and transfer you into it and then I will take you back to where Sam is. What I do to you until then is entirely sporadic." He gave off another demented smile and made his way to Castiel. At some point he had pulled a clean shirt out of Castiel's closet, handing it to him while he reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed at what Castiel presumed to be the zip ties.

Castiel backed away a little bit from the taller man, tripping over his own feet and stumbling. Dean's mocking smile scared Castiel all that much more. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, Dean produced, not only the ties, but also a rag that was obviously not very clean. The rag itself was a faded red, and there were stains of brown and white that were not very appealing to the eye. Castiel hopes that those stains weren't what he thought that they were.

"Oh, don't worry about this, Castiel. You see, this rag is going into your mouth for just a second white I tie up your hands and get the tape. So, come here." He voice dropped nearly a full octave as he was talking, and he stepped into the shadow of the room, sharpening his features and turning him into the killer that the world knew him as. He went from looking like a male model to someone who knew your every secret without you ever having to open your mouth.

"And if I scream right now? If I draw the neighbor's attention to our current situation?" He knew his voice shook as he backed up against the wall, getting as far from Dean as possible. Unknowingly, he had placed Dean between himself and the door. Dean advanced a little more quickly now, covering more ground with each step, finally getting within about three feet of the trembling, younger man.

"But you haven't yet so why would you now?" Castiel opened his mouth at that second and was rewarded with the lightning fast speed of Dean shoving the rag into his mouth. It was putrid tasting, so much so that he actually gagged on the sourness of it. But he was not going to give in so easily to the mayhem that was Dean Winchester. So as Dean’s finger entered his mouth to shove the rag in even farther, Castiel bit down as hard as he could. He was going to die anyways, so why prolong it? He managed to get his teeth around the rag some, enough to draw some blood.

“Son of a bitch! You little jackass!” Dean took a swipe at Castiel with the back of his right hand, sending him stumbling to Castiel’s left, towards the window. The window that is open and is letting a nice cool breeze flutter the curtains. His cheek stings where Dean’s ringed hand got him, but he doesn’t give up at that. No, this time he tries screaming around the rag, but it does it’s job well at muffling the noise to make him nearly mute.

Realizing that his hands are still free, he reaches up to yank at the rag. But as his hand get’s past his belt line, it’s snatched and he is pulled around to have his arm tucked behind his back and his face pressed against the window frame. The feeling of cool plastic on his skin is less than reassuring to his sanity and he winces when he hears their zip as they are tightened. Now he is screwed. Dean rams his face a little harder into the metal of the frame and then the pressure is gone, and so is Dean. He completed the first part of his job by tying Castiel up and making sure that he couldn’t escape.

Part two is packing a bag of Castiel’s things. It’s a little more than creepy to watch some guy that you don’t know, who is about to kill you, pack your things so that you feel less alone when you become his sex slave. He’s still barefoot, so when Castiel turns around to see what is going on behind him, he doesn’t make a sound. Dean is rummaging through his drawers, pulling everything out that he can and shoving it into a pile near his own feet. He must be going to put it into a bag or something later so that he can carry it.

A stiff breeze catches Castiel’s attention again as it swims through his messy and slightly sweaty hair. He turns his head and he sees that not only is the window open, but it’s wide enough for him to get his body through. However, any time frame that he may have is limited to the extreme, what with Dean still in the room. Ideas start swarming in his head. Elaborate jumps and spins to get out of the way of Dean’s long arms, fanciful tricks of martial arts to knock Dean off of his feet, stupidly brave moves of jumping out of the window.

Wait… that last one wouldn’t be the worst option at this point. He lived on the third floor of the building, and that, while being enough to injure someone, isn’t enough to kill them unless they land wrong. And that was a very real possibility in this situation, but it was better than the thought of him producing a ninja star and using it to chop off Dean’s head that just went through his mind. But now the waiting game had to be played, and if he was off by even a millisecond he was screwed… literally.

He watched in anticipation as Dean flung shirts and socks alike into the pile. He was just shifting his body weight to turn back around when a ringing sound caused Castiel to nearly jump out of his skin, and he wished that he could have made it out of the window. Dean looked confused for a second and then reached into his pocket. He checked the caller I.D. and when it showed someone who Dean must have liked, he smiled. Flipping open the phone (because he was that kind of guy) he pressed it to his ear.

“Hey Sammy.” There was muffled chatter on the other end of the line, but Dean couldn’t make out any words being said. But Dean’s face fell in some sort of shock and he lowered the phone, glancing to the trembling Castiel who was dressed solely in jeans. “You move an inch, and I will see to it that anything that crosses that inch line is removed.” He pressed the phone back up to his ear and started walking from the room, a single golden-green eye locked on him until the door was shut. All that was heard was the muted footsteps and rambling words of his captor.

Castiel stared blankely at the door that Dean just walked out of, trying to figure out what in the hell just happened. He stood there for a full few seconds processing before understanding with a stark realization that he was in the clear to do whatever the fuck he could.

He started with working on getting the rag out of his mouth as quickly as he could, tossing it to the ground in a slobbery and slimy heap, after retching about the taste for another moment. Once it was out of his mouth he started working on trying to get the zip tie off. He remembered seeing something about how he could break the zip tie with his wrists, but they had to be in front of him, and considering that they were behind him, he was a little screwed about that point.

Looking around the room, he tried to find something that he could hook the tie around to break it. He did the dramatic movie thing with his eyes where they zoomed in on the one thing that could break it... the metal track on the underside of his dresser. He walked as quickly to the dresser, trying not to make any noise, and pulled out the drawer. Finally getting there and, by some miracle, getting it open, he turned around and started working the tie on the metal bar. Knowing that he had cut his hand on it a few times, he figured that he should be able to get this cut. There was a noise out in the living room.

Castiel looked over to the door, sweat beading on his forehead. When the tie released from his wrists he let out an audible sigh of relief but then caught himself when a shadow passed in front of the door. He stilled his movements and held his breath, but when Dean started talking again and moved away from the door, he bolted from the dresser, keeping the drawer open, and made his way to the open window.

He looked out of the window and down to the ground below, anticipating his death. That is until he noticed a cliche miracle... there was a dumpster below his window. However, the non-cliche part was that it wasn't straight under his window, but about five or so feet to the left. That means that he would have to jump to the left and land in it, all the while not hitting anything sharp in it. But his time was limited and the adrenaline was kicking in, his heart racing and blood pounding through his ears, turning him deaf to the outside world.

He noticed white holes in the side of the building that must have used to hold an outdoor staircase, but it was gone now. Why couldn't it have still been there? It would have been so useful at this point in his life. All of a sudden, the door to the bedroom swung open and he didn't stop to look behind him as a deep and intensely terrifying voice called out his name.

He launched himself out of the window and did his best to aim towards the dumpster. The flash of green and brown was his only cue that he had missed the dumpster, landing on the outside of it by about three feet. Pain ripped through his body, blinding him with white hot pain in his shoulder and hip. But which one? The echo of pain ricocheted through his body, keeping him unsure of what hit the asphalt and what didn't.

The yellow glow of a street lamp was his only light as he stumbled to his feet, ignoring the distant throbbing of something being broken in his body. The alleyway that he landed in wasn't all that dark but it was dark enough that if people looked out they wouldn't see a young, broken, and bleeding man dragging his left foot behind him and holding onto his stomach, struggling for air, as he lurched to the street to hopefully gain attention to himself. But the man himself didn't know about his injuries for he was too busy trying to keep his head up and not pass out."Castiel!" Dean's voice rammed against the brick walls behind him, shattering the last points of hope that Castiel had that he had escaped him. They exploded under the pressure of his words and the debris cut into Castiel, making his existing cuts deeper.

Finally managing to get to the sidewalk, he realized with horror that he was no longer alone. He must not have been moving as fast as he thought he had been, for by the time that he made it to the sidewalk, Dean was there with a blanket and the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. A passerby about a block down caught Castiel's eye but Dean refused to let him see the person for more than a second at a time. When he spoke, it was louder and a little higher than normal, making sure that the person down the way could hear them.

"Silly Cas, what did I tell you about wandering about at night? Come on, I am so glad that I found you as soon as I did. Let's get you in my car, Cas. Let's go, there you go. Good job. One step at a time." Dean wrapped an arm around his aching shoulders and the pain that ripped through Castiel made him grit his teeth and suck in a breath. But when he did he ended up swallowing a mouthful of blood that he didn't even know he had. They walked, Dean supporting Castiel, while causing a ton a pain, over to an old car that could have been classified a 'pimp-mobile'. The passerby had turned into the building across the street, keeping an eye on them the whole way.

Once to the car, Dean shoved Castiel in to the back seat, him hitting his head on the door on the other side as Dean pushed him in all the way. He held in his scream as the adrenaline wore off in his body. The extent of his injuries were finally showing themselves to him. Once the door was slammed shut, crushing Castiel's toe, he walked around to the front and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Alright, because of that little stunt that you just pulled, you are not even going to be strapped in. I was going to be nice before you jumped out of the window and broke your ankle and your shoulder, but now, I don't care. You're already injured, let's have a little fun with your pain. I'm a good driver, but I like to go fast. So, try to hold on." Dean smiled into the rearview mirror, one of those devilish ones that caused the hairs on the back of Castiel's neck to stand on end.

The car took off down the road at a speed that Castiel was sure was nearing double the 40 mile an hour speed limit. He whipped around turns and flew through red lights- Castiel could see where they were going. Sure, they were going too fast to read signs, but he knew exactly where they were. Even laying back against the seat, being tossed around like a blow up toy in the middle of an ocean storm, he could see the tops of buildings illuminated by the blurred streetlights.

He bit back tears as they went over potholes and holes in the road, jarring his shoulder and his legs. As he was being thrown around, his body shifted enough that he could see the spots of blood that were left on the seat of the car. Something from his head was bleeding, whether it was from his nose, mouth, or ear, he wasn’t sure. All he knew is that the puddle under his head was steadily growing larger.

Dean didn't seem to realize that Castiel was losing so much blood, or that he could vaguely recognize where they were, for he just continued passing under red lights and speeding along the thick cover of night.

As Castiel's head swam from the loss of blood he heard one thing before his vision went completely black... "Is that a fucking cop? Shit."

Suspended between conscious and blacking out, Castiel gathered snippets of the conversation that was going on, his head throbbing with each flash of the red and blue lights. Had Dean actually stopped the car? Apparently.

"Do you know how fast you were going sir?"

"Sorry officer, but my buddy got attacked and I'm taking him to the hospital."

"Son, the hospital is the other way... Wait, you look like- GET OUT OF THE CAR! NOW!" But as Castiel raised his weary head from the drying puddle of blood and spit that steadily dropped from his open mouth, the car lurched backwards and he heard a scream from the cop. The next moment Castiel's head spun as the car lurched back forward and sped off down the road, sending his body to be pushed back into the seat as the force of the car increased. He wasn't sure what was happening at this point, with blurred vision of black, blue, and red. The cacophonous noise of screeching tires and the whining of the sirens made him want to cover his already bleeding ears, but he couldn't control his body anymore due to loss of blood.

He guessed that another full 60 seconds went by before the pressure in his head made him black out again. And enough time had passed between him conking out and waking up that the sky outside had turned from black to a dark blue-purple haze. Dean's driving had returned to a slightly normal pace, signaling to Castiel that they had somehow outrun the cops. Dean made a right turn onto a dirt road (he could tell because of the massive dips and bumps and the dust that was coming in through the open front window). They traveled down the road for a while, Castiel's head lolling along the seat before he felt the car slow down and eventually roll to a stop. His eyes were still partially shut when Dean turned around and talked to him.

"Alright sleepyhead... I am going to bag you so that you don't drool and bleed all over my car. This one isn't mine so I don't give a fuck, but mine- yeah, don't be bleeding on Baby. And I know that you are completely incapable of moving your own body, so I guess that's up to me. Let's go." Dean climbed out of the car and Castiel, not quite sure what Dean had just said to him, flinched slightly as Dean opened up the back door and dragged Castiel out of the car, slinging him over his shoulders in fireman style. Castiel's eyes, though heavy and lidded, and his vision blurred, could see that the car that they had just gotten out of was an old yellow junker looking thing. And the car that they were headed to was black, shiny, glinting in the early morning sun. This was a car that when it rolled up next to you, you rolled your own windows up or you walked the other way. And Castiel had no more fight left in him to do anything as they made their way to the trunk of the car. And the landscape around them was just as creepy as the car- cornfields on each side, blocking in his already limited field of view.

"Castiel, meet Baby. Baby, try not to let him puke." Dean set Castiel down on the bumper of the car, opening up the trunk with his free hand. Castiel looked behind him a little bit and saw Dean open up a hidden panel on the base of the trunk, exposing an arsenal of shotguns, rope, lighter fluid, revolvers, case upon case of bullets, masses of odds and ends of trinkets and charms and tokens. But the machete scared him the most. Dean grabbed a dark bag that had a pull string and then shut the secret compartment. He slipped it over Castiel’s lolling head and tightened the string, not enough to choke him, but enough for him to want to get out. Castiel couldn’t remember if he passed out before or after he was laid down in the trunk of the car. After all, everything was black either way.

Time was irrelevant anymore; the passing of minutes and seconds and hours a blur to his predicament. So when the car finally rolled to a stop and he was thrown against the side of the trunk, he was surprised by how much light seeped in through the black cloth bag that was draped over his head. Dean tightened the string some and then grabbed Castiel, hoisting him to his shoulders again. They traveled for a little ways before Castiel was eventually put down. And what he was set on wasn’t man made- there was a stick going along the side of his ass. A guttural moan escaped his lips as he leaned back, feeling the cool earth against his back.

“Aw now, no time for sleeping, Cas. You have to at least sit up." The fact that there was audible movement on two sides of him scared him the most, because suddenly, the already murderous Dean Winchester wasn't alone. So when the black bag was pulled from his head from behind, and he ended up staring into the face of Dean. He didn't have enough blood left in him to make up a complete thought. One strong hand shot down and quickly pulled him to his knees.

"It's so nice to finally officially meet the infamous Castiel Novak. Dean’s been raving about you since we got to the courthouse that first day. Wouldn’t stop talking about you… your blue eyes, your sweet smile when you were talking to that redheaded lady. What was her name?”

“Charlie, I think.”

“Oh right, thanks Dean. Charlie Bradbury. She got into a little bit of trouble when she was a teenager. Hacked into something that made the FED’s really angry. But I don’t care about that. I care about the fact that my brother shoved your ass into the trunk of his Impala. That was really nice of him to make sure that all your spit and blood was kept inside of the bag.” Being on his knees made Sam Winchester even taller than he originally was. Granted he was a little wavy and he was swimming around a little bit, he was still intimidating. He too wore several layers, a tee, then plaid, then instead of a leather jacket he wore a thick hoodie that he left unzipped. He looked a little ridiculous with his hair being as long as it was, but Castiel didn’t have the energy to say anything about it.

“Aw now Sammy, look at the kid! He’s tired, probably wants to sleep, wants to get on with his night in the comfort of his own bed… right?” He asked as Castiel swayed in place. Sitting in a kneeling position wasn’t an advantage this time, because who knew what praying would do at a time like this… probably make the murderers mad.

“Dean, I don’t think that this poor thing really cares about his bed right now. I think that he cares more about the fact that he has lost so much blood. Well, at least I think that it’s a lot, considering that he has thick trails of it coming from his mouth, ears, and nose. and not to mention that his leg is in an odd position- what did you do to him?” Sam looked over at Dean incredulously. But the other brother just shrugged.

“Kid jumped out of his window, landed on the concrete, then ran for a while. He has fight in him, I’ll give him that.”

“Well, do you think that this fight is still going on? He’s on his feet.” Indeed he was. Castiel, in the midst of that conversation between the boys, he had somehow managed to stagger to his feet. He swayed in place, unsure of his balance, unsure of his thoughts, and completely sure that what he was doing was bat-shit crazy.

“Hey there Castiel, what are you doing, kid?”

“Kid? Really, you are calling him kid?”

“Well ‘adult’ doesn’t sound as fun. I don’t give a shit if he’s 18, he’s still younger than us.”

“Hwldou?” Castiel managed to gurgle out, though the boys cocked their heads, at the same time, at what he had said. So he took a deep breath and tried again. “How old are you?” The boys looked at each other, slightly confused.

“I thought that they told the jurors how old we were?” Sam took half a step closer as he talked.

“I don’t remember your age. It’s been a while.” Though he was still slightly stirring his words, he was coherent enough to fully form his thoughts and to take a fairly decent amount of control of his tongue.

“Well, Sammy here just turned 21, happy late birthday little bro. That means that I am almost 25. And you are 18 and that means that technically everything we do is legal. Well, not the killing part but the, everything else part. Isn’t it exciting to be with older people?” Castiel shook his head ‘no’ but stopped when the world turned black. He had lost too much blood, he knew that and it terrified him. He tried reaching a hand up to his face but groaned in pain and stopped- his shoulder wouldn’t move.

“He dislocated his shoulder. I’ll pop it back in.”

“Why would you do that? It’s his own damned fault for jumping out of the window.”

“It was you who scared him enough to do that. What? Were you playing games with him before trying to grab him? Did you leave him alone? Did you actually trust him to not do anything? Dean, you have to stop trusting your toys to not do anything,” Sam, finally ending telling off Dean, made his way over to Castiel. But his world was still fairly dark, so he could only make out general shapes and a few colors. Yet he was still shocked when Sam put one hand on either side of his dislocated shoulder and pushed, causing Castiel to scream in pain. His nerve receptors finally back to fast acting. He dropped to his knees, screaming, as both the adrenalin and unconsciousness faded. He screamed for his leg, for his arm, he screamed for his ribs, for his head; he screamed for mercy and screamed for help, but mostly he screamed for salvation.

“Oh, put a cork in it.” That’s the last thing he remembered hearing before a large brown object came towards his face at a very fast rate.

*****************************************************************************

“Dude, I thought that you had lost the cops?”

“I did! And whatever those are, they aren’t cops. I know what cops sound like, and those aren’t them.”

“Then what are they?”

“Shit if I know. Grab the kid, we have to run.”

“Run where? There is nowhere to go!”

“Will you keep your voice down? Dammit Sam, if we can hear them then they can hear us!”

“Well sorry for being concerned that we are about to get caught.”

“Do you even have anything with you, any shotguns, pistols, a bow and arrow? Anything?”

“Not exactly, Dean. We left the Impala back a ways. And no, I am not running there all by myself,”

“Oh man up, Sam. It’s a half mile. A full mile trip. You can do that in less than three minutes.”

“Oh hell no. Not with- shit, get down.”

“Hello? Hi, sorry to bother you. But can you keep your voices down a little bit, we don’t want our horses to spook.” A female voice stood out in the harsh silence.

“Oh sure, of course. Sorry about that ma’am. Beautiful animal.”

“Oh thanks.”

“Do you mind if I ask where you are coming from?”

“Sure, of course you can ask that- Dean. I’m a mounted police officer, who just so happens to be off duty, but I can still take you into custody.”

“Haha, you and what army?”

“You mean the other six members of my troop? Us, who were exercising our horses and heard bloodcurdling screaming, yeah- we came to see what was happening. And you happen to be some of the most recognizable faces in the entire United States. Nice try.” The voices faded one last time, and then he could only feel what was happening. His body being picked up and placed on something that was large, and fuzzy. Then the world was moving, and he couldn’t help the hot bile that sprang forth from his mouth. His eyes had become so heavily lidded that he couldn’t see where the vomit went, and the blood in his ears had crusted over enough that he couldn’t hear, and the blood in his nose had dried enough that he couldn’t smell nor breathe. So when he vomited he tried sucking in a breath, and found that it was so painful that he screamed again. The large thing under him jumped a little bit but a soothing hand was laid upon his back. He passed back out due to the jarring of his body.

**********************************************************************************

Flashes of white crossed his closed eyelids, and something was beeping incredibly loudly to his left- and again he couldn’t breathe. Something was caught in his throat and he frothed and spit around the object, nearly vomiting in it as he came to.

“Easy there, I’ve got you. Hold on one more second, kiddo.” A soft voice rang in his ear and he felt the cool thing that was resting down his throat being pulled up and out. He felt the threads of spit snap and fall to his face as it was completely removed. “Now one more thing. You have tape over your eyes, and I am going to take it off of you.” The woman once again spoke directly into his ear and a moment later, he felt tugging at his eyelids.

“Ow.” Finally groaning out a noise, he slowly opened his eyelids- well, opened them and then shut them right away because it was far too bright to be acceptable. He tried opening them again and when he found the soft, dark face of a nurse staring at him.

“Welcome back sweetheart. I’m very glad to see your bright eyes. We didn’t get to see much of them when you came in here.” Her kind eyes looked him over and Castiel burrowed further under the tin sheet. He tried looking around but his head went dizzy. He tried to grab at it but his arms had needles in them. A cool hand was placed on his shoulder, stilling his movements. “Easy there child, don’t be getting yourself more hurt than you already are.”

“Where- where did they go? What happened?” Again, he attempted to pull his arms up, but was again stopped by the needles and tubes coming from his arm.

“The Winchesters? Boy, they were carted off to a safe location. You will never see them again.”

“They will be back. They will escape, they will find me. They never let a victim go alive! They will find me!” His voice had grown in both strength and in volume, until he was nearly shouting. The kind nurse laid a cool rag against his forehead and he quieted down.

“They won’t be getting to you any time soon, child. What you need to worry about is getting your strength back, getting up and moving again. You don’t need to be worrying yourself over those men anymore.” The chill of the rag quickly calmed his racing heart, and he was breathing normally again in no time.

“Are you sure about that? They know where I live, they know where I work and where I am planning on going to school.”

“And they also know that you are protected, sweet child.”

“But I was on their trial case- they know everything about me! They know about my family, my friends, my life, where I eat, what I eat-”

“Child if you don’t calm yourself down this instant you are going to give yourself a heart attack!” The nurse flipped the cloth over, exposing a cooler side to press against Castiel’s forehead. But after Castiel continued to have a meltdown about the Winchesters, and the nurse (he found out that her name was Missouri) had to knock him out with some very powerful meds.

_He walked through the apartment, the sharp edges and lines familiar and safe to his troubled eye. He loved the feel of the plush red carpet beneath his bare feet, the thick material pressing up between his toes. He loved the feel of the rough wall beneath his fingertips as he ran his hand along the wall, it’s bumps and dips reassuring that he was safe._

_A bright light flooded in from the kitchen, spread thin from under the door, causing the red carpet to shine and shimmer. It was almost romantic- the golden light, the bright carpet. His senses dulled as he pushed a hand against the black wood grain, his nails were painted brown._

_Jazz music filled the air, and patrons of all sizes and shapes swung back and forth along the dance floor, their dresses twirling and their naval suits scratching. Castiel let the door swing closed. The hall with the red carpet was silent, and golden light still poured from under the door. He turned around._

_A white door was behind him, and golden light spilled from under the door. He grabbed and turned the knob with one hand, his nails were black. The door creaked open, it’s hinges rusted and cracked from lack of use. A green python sat coiled in the middle of the room, it’s fangs deep into the throat of a black colored goat. It’s back legs were kicking out, it’s body jerking in unnatural ways. The python bit down harder, coiling its body around the thrashing animal. It looked up to Castiel with golden eyes. Castiel let the door swing closed._

_The red carpet gave way to a set of stairs, not quite leading down, nor up, just, out. So Castiel placed his foot on the first step, his hand grabbed the railing. His nails were white. Each step made him feel heavier, yet each step made it easier to breathe. He went up and down at the same time, and slowly the light shifted. It went from a darker shade to nearly white and the Heavens opened up their pearly gates for him._

_At each side of the gates was a man clad in a white suit, with red shoes, and a black rose pinned to his lapel. They hid their faces from him, their smiles a mystery and their eyes secrets for which Castiel was desperate to explore. As he came near, their size grew and they still had yet to show their faces._

_The surface of what he was walking on wasn’t solid, nor was it gaseous, nor liquid. It was a little bit of everything and all at once nothing. And as the gates threw their luminescence into the light sky the two men with the white suits, red shoes, and black roses on their lapels turned their heads. And Castiel screamed._

__

“Castiel! Dear child, Castiel! For God’s mercy, awaken!” Missouri did her best to quiet the young man who screamed in his sleep- but this sleep had lasted three days already. She begged that he would open his eyes, that he would see her face, that he would be brought back to a safe place, and yet he screamed. He screamed in pain, he screamed for mercy. He screamed the moment the Winchesters were once again reported missing. He screamed the moment they made their way back to Castiel’s apartment. He screamed when they found the hospital.

His screams were silenced once and for all when they found his room. His eyes opened, their intense blue awe inspiring to the two brothers that stood over him, red dripping onto their shoes, and the thick squirt of blood looking black on their jackets. Their clothes were not white, no, but their smiles sparkled in the sun as they walked out of the hospital, their final victim caught in a silent scream.

_And he walked through his apartment, the floor a plush red carpet..._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! Did you puke? Did it take a few rereads before you finally understood it? Were you laughing like I was when I first had the idea pop into my head? I want to know!


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